


Arrows to the Heart

by TheWritingGiant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 41,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingGiant/pseuds/TheWritingGiant
Summary: When her home is threatened by a wicked sheriff, Lady Jemma Simmons will do everything she can to protect it. Even join in with a notorious gang of outlaws.But things get even more complicated when she get to know this band of the thieves and forms a unique bond with their leader. It leaves her with a difficult choice: Home, England, or Love?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! 
> 
> So this is a little story I've been slowly plugging away at for about a year now, and finally hit a good stride back in the summer. I figured what better way to celebrate the return of the show then having something ready to post. 
> 
> I've always loved Robin Hood. Fitzsimmons have been my AoS faves since they first appeared on screen together. So I figured, why not combine the two!
> 
> Just a heads up Ophelia is mentioned and will appear in this story. I know she is a trigger to a lot of the fandom, myself included, so this is your warning, she is mentioned, she does appear. I will also put a warning before each chapter where she appears or is heavily mentioned.
> 
> That being said this is an FS story, so she's not exactly portrayed favourably.

Prologue

Leo Fitz made his way through the crowd gathered at the centre of Loxley village. His eyes, like those of the people around him, were locked on the figures sitting in ornate chairs on the newly erected platform. Gideon Malick, the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, had called this gathering. Just like he had in Clunn, and Nettlestone, and Wallow before, to celebrate the engagement of his nephew and heir Sir Grant Ward to one Lady Jemma Simmons. Fitz moved to the back of the crowd, his eyes never leaving Lady Jemma, or more importantly the large ring sitting on her left hand. It was a large sapphire, surrounded by diamonds; it must have been worth a fortune. Even the thin gold band the jewels dwarfed had value. A ring like that probably could feed the whole village through the winter at least. And there she sat twisting it, playing with it, like it was some insignificant toy.

The King was off fighting in the Holy Land and under the tutelage of his brother Prince John the villagers were starving. Not just Fitz’s small village, but the whole of Nottinghamshire, maybe even the whole of England. Malick knew it. Grant Ward knew it. And that girl knew it too. Yet still they went around village to village, presenting the people with the news of their happy occasion. They flaunted their wealth, lording over the people the news a great feast they were not invited to attend but expected them all to cheer for. And cheer they did. 

Lady Jemma helped with that of course. She was a beauty after all and people liked beautiful things, even in the most trying of times. With her flowing waves of brown hair, her round hazel eyes, it was a kind, pretty face to distract from the taunt hidden just under the surface. The people looked at her like she was an angel walking the Earth. Sir Grant stared at her like a hungry dog, it was pathetic really, Fitz thought. With small smile, and her empty eyes, she was completely indifferent to where she was, to what she was seeing, to the suffering of the people she would one day preside over. She was just like the rest of them.

He adjusted the quiver on his hip, taking extra care to make sure his arrows didn't rattle about giving him away. He watched as the bride-to-be twisted the ring around her finger, like she was afraid it would vanish into nothingness. Fitz supposed had she point, it would and quite soon. His gaze broke when someone bumped into him from behind in an effort to get closer dais, he righted himself and looked at the ring again, final smirk at hit he continued through throng of people, taking his position.

*

Jemma twisted the engagement ring that sat uncomfortably on her finger for what must have been the hundredth time. She couldn't stop herself she hated the thing. She hated what it represented. She hated that a trinket could cost enough to the people of this village and all the ones before it and yet sat on her finger, doing nothing. And there was nothing she could do about it. Grant, her fiancé, reach out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. To an outsider it must have looked like a loving gesture, a source of comfort between lovers, but it wasn't. 

“Stop fiddling with that ring or I will find a smith to secure it in place myself,” Grant hissed out of the corner of his mouth, never letting his smile fall from his chiselled face.

She stilled herself with a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. She wanted nothing more than to be at home, and that was exactly why she was doing this, the irony was not lost on her. She needed to protect her home, her father and everything she held dear, and in order to do so she had to leave it all, she had to agree to marry a man she could never love, a man she was rather sure she hated. But Knighton would be safe, her father would be safe, and her people would be fed and protected.

She touched the necklace round throat; it was simple comparison to her new ring, a small silver rose. It had been her mother’s once; a gift from her father on their first wedding anniversary. She’d given it Jemma not long before died. It meant the world to her, more than Grant’s ring ever could. The necklace was symbol of love; the ring was a statement of ownership. It made her property, a reminder that she was nothing more than a prize, a showpiece, little better than a hunting trophy. It made her wonder how long it would be before she was mounted on wall alongside her intended’s precious deer head mounts.

Her hand touched the ring again and Jemma fought the bile that rose in her throat. She spent every one of these spectacles praying that somebody would be able to see the trepidation in them. She scanned the crowd, begging for someone to see past the pomp and circumstance and really see her when she was halted by the bluest of eyes peering back at her. Her pulse raced, logically, she knew that it was the way the light was reflecting on them, there was no way they could really be that bright, but still she’d never seen eyes that blue before. They belonged to a man, he wasn't particularly tall, but Jemma could see his solid frame under his cloak. She watched as he walked through the crowd with an ease that Jemma envied. 

“Would you put a smile on your face woman,” Grant startled her with a sharp nudge to her ribs. “You’re marrying me after all.”

Gideon Malick leaned over his nephew. “Remember why doing this,” he pressed a kiss to cheek, and smiled back out at the gathering.

Jemma suppressed shiver and plastered smile on face again. She looked back out at people trying find those blue eyes again. But he was gone.


	2. Chapter One

Jemma rubbed her mother’s pendant between her fingers; it had been a long day. Fake smiling for the people, pretending to be happy about her up coming nuptials, trying to please the Sheriff and her intended. She was exhausted. But this was to be her life. As she watched the trees fly past out the window, she wondered. There were tales of men, outlaws, villagers that had lost everything, making lives for themselves in the woods of England; she could do that. Jump out of the carriage and just take off. She knew what plants were edible, what could hurt and what could heal. Maybe she could make money as a wandering healer. It would be a way to see England, the whole of Britain even; she’d never been out of the Northeast. It would be nice to see the south or London, or she could go north, Scotland is supposed to be beautiful.

“Jemma!” a pair of fingers snapped in front of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she turned her gaze to the woman who sat the carriage opposite her. “What was that?”

“I asked,” Elena, Jemma’s lady’s maid and oldest friend, rolled her eyes. “What you thought about the stories the ladies of court were gossiping about? The ones about the Archer and his gang of highway men?”

“I think if the rumours are true, then I hope they’re never caught.” Rumours of a particular gang of outlaws in Sherwood Forest had been around for more than a year now. An archer who never missed a shot, who along with his group of outlaws stole from the nobles and wealthy who ventured too far into the woods, only to give it all away to the villagers in Nottinghamshire. 

“Jemma!”

Jemma shook her head of the thoughts and put on her best contrite look. “Sorry, sorry, I know, I keep wondering off.”

“Are you alright?” Elena took her hand. 

“I’m fine,” she offered a tight smile in return. “Just a bit tired.”

“Jemma. You know you don't have to go through with this, right? Marrying Ward? Your father can find another way.”

“It’s too late Elena,” Jemma sighed.

“It’s never too late.” 

“What do you think Gideon Malick will do if I back out of marrying his nephew? He has Prince John’s ear, he can just as easily destroy us as he can provide aid,” Jemma shook her head. “We’ve given our word, I have to see it through.” 

Jemma watched as her friend opened her mouth to argue again, but the carriage came to a jolting stop. It was so sudden that it launched Elena across the gap between the seats and into Jemma. They righted themselves quickly and Jemma stuck her head out the window. “What’s going on?” she asked

“It’s nothing My Lady, stay in carriage,” Kebo, the head guard ordered as he drew his sword. 

“But why have we stopped?” She asked. “And if there’s nothing to worry about, why have you pulled your blade?”

“The horses were spooked,” he glared. “We’re just being cautious. Get back in carriage properly please Lady Jemma.”

Ignoring the man, Jemma and Elena continued to stare out the window for any sign of what startled the horses, but there was nothing. No fallen trees, no other carriages, no people besides their guards, not a thing, even the winds were still. Jemma was just about to right herself in the carriage when from no where, an arrow embedded itself into the side of the carriage with a thud, inches away from her head.

Kebo’s voice rang out over the rising din as he ordered the guards forward, but there was noting to march forward too. The air was thick with tension as the guards scanned the area, but there was nothing. A shrill whistled pierced through the air, and out of nowhere three figures shrouded by their cloaked emerged from the tree line. 

It was a blur of motion and a cacophony of sounds as the guards and the cloaked figures clashed. Jemma chanced a glance out of the window when she caught sight of him, a lone figure standing at the tree line, bow at his side. “That’s him,” Elena whispered. “The Archer, what do you think he wants?”

“I think he wants to make Malick look like a fool,” Jemma replied. This wasn't some mistaken identity, it wasn't a crime of opportunity, the carriage was bedecked in the Malick family coat of arms, and the guards were wearing the Malick sigil on their chest plates. No this was targeted, they knew exactly who was in this carriage, and Jemma knew exactly what they were after. “Elena, they’re after me. My engagement ring and whatever other riches they believe I carry on my person. You can make your escape now.”

“Jemma, no,” Elena protested. “I’m not going to leave you here.”

“You have to. You’re the faster runner anyway, get home, tell my father-” Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the carriage door bursting open. Hands reached in and pulled Elena out. “NO!” Jemma screamed as she threw herself from the carriage. 

The Archer’s gang didn't kill, at least that was the rumour, but she wasn't willing to risk her friend testing out that particular tale. A giant of a man had Elena pinned against the side of the carriage, as Jemma scramble to find something, anything to fight him off. She had just found a stick when a deep groan of pain sounded from behind her. She turned just in time to see the giant drop to his knees, and watched as Elena lowered her leg back to the ground.

“Elena, go!” Jemma shouted back to her friend as she looked at the chaos surrounding them. The guards outnumbered the outlaws two to one, but it wasn't enough. She headed forward right toward the lone figure standing out of the way of the fray. “Over here!” she waved her hands in the air, catching his attention. “Is this what you’re after?” she held the ring up between her thumb and forefinger. “Come and get it!” she took off woods opposite him.

Jemma’s legs were burning as she ran through the trees, the branches tearing at her arms. She could hear the Archer lumbering behind her, crashing through the underbrush. A fallen tree blocked her path Jemma tried to leap over it, only a unexpected jolt sent her tumbling to the ground, an arrow had pinned the hem of her dress to the trunk. She tugged her skirt free, ripping it up past her knee and took of again, it was much easier to run now with her legs no longer bound by the trappings of her skirt. She burst out of the dense forest into a clearing, a wide open field with nothing in sight but grass, no cottages, no people and no idea where to go next with the Archer was hot on her heels. 

She knew she had no chance of outrunning him; her lungs were on fire, her legs cramping, and he no doubt knew the area more than her. But she knew what he wanted; her ring and that gave her a plan. Taking the band off her finger and tucked it down her bodice, maybe he would think it lost during their forest pursuit. Not a moment later she was tackled to the ground from behind, hitting dirt with a solid thud, a heavy body landing on top of her. She struggled as the Archer pulled her round, facing him, batting at his hands, his arms, whatever she could make contact with. Her hand made contact with his hood, and she tugged it down and met the bluest eyes she’d ever seen once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up next week, I won't place a definitive date, but my plan is to post on either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, whichever works better on a given week. I'm also looking for a beta, if anyone is interested hit me up on tumblr.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Ophelia is mentioned (very briefly) in this chapter! 
> 
> Also there's a little Robin Hood easter egg in there for ya. Pretty simple one, put it in the comments below if you found it.

Fitz realized Lady Jemma recognized him from the gathering the instant her eyes met his. Mack had been right, he should have worn his hood, but Loxley was his home, and Fitz didn't want to hide in his home. She was clever, this noble lady, she baited him with her ring, and he fell for it. He was angry, not since Acre had he had a plan go so very, very wrong. It was supposed to be a simple smash and grab; now he’d had a foot race through the woods and a small wrestling match. He was angry, he was tired, and he didn't feel like searching long for his prize.

“Where is it?” he barked as he pinned Lady Jemma’s wrists over her head with one hand and patted at her sides.

“I don’t know,” she struggled against his grip.

“I don't believe you,” Fitz moved his hands to her stomach, feeling for anything other than the give of clothes and flesh.

“It must have fallen off in the forest.”

“Then why did you keep running?” 

“You were chasing me!”

“I think,” he moved his hands up to her neckline. “That you’ve hidden it somewhere just a little more private.” She struggled as his rough hands travelled down her neck, over her collar and into the lines of her bodice. He felt it something hard and slick laying between the valley of her breasts, but it wasn't a ring. He pulled out a pendant, a silver rose, far too simple for her taste to be sure, but it would fetch a pretty penny or two. “What have we here? Maybe, I’ll just take this.” 

“No,” Jemma protested, her eyes suddenly pleading. “Please, not that.”

“Why not,” he smirked. “If you let the ring fall in the forest I’ll never find it, and I need something, so.” He pulled against the chain.

“It was my mother’s,” she begged. “Please, I’ll give you the ring. Just, please leave the necklace, it’s all have left of her.”

Fitz looked hard into her eyes, their deep caramel wide with fear, but he detected no lie. He let his fingers open and watched as the pendant fell back into place. “The ring Milady, and no funny business.”

He let down one of her hands, keeping the other firmly pressed into the ground. She reached into her top and pulled out the trinket, dropping it into his outstretched hand. “There, now will you let me go?”

Fitz pursed his lips together, he had a plan, it was insane, but it could be far worth all the trouble if it worked. “No.”

“Why not?” Jemma demanded. “You have the ring. You’ll get away cleanly, what could you possible want from me? I won’t even tell the Sheriff it was you.”

“Malick is an idiot, but he’s not completely stupid. He’ll know exactly who attacked you,” Fitz smiled impishly. “But imagine what he’ll pay us for the safe return of his beloved nephew’s bride-to-be.”

“What?”

“Up you come, Milady,” Fitz stood quickly and tugged Jemma upright with him. Before she could move he had her heaved across both his shoulders, his one arm wrapped around both her legs and the other holding her right wrist tightly to his side, pinning her once again.

“Let me down!” She did her best to struggle against his hold.

“Afraid I can’t do that,” she could hear the smirk in his voice. “And if you aren’t carful Milady, you’ll cause me to drop you, and then where will we be? Actually, you falling off and smacking your head may make my job easy so wiggle away.”

Jemma huffed and allowed herself to go limp, indulging in his small groan at her sudden dead weight. His footfalls were heavy as they crunched the underbrush; it was almost melodic. Soon enough, whether from her awkward position, fatigue from her ordeal, or the nearly rhythmic sounds, Jemma felt her eyes drift close, her breathing settling in time with her captor’s footsteps.

Fitz was panting by the time the rendezvous point came into view. He craned his neck to look at Lady Jemma. She was asleep, or maybe she had passed out he wasn't sure, but she was breathing so that was something. He could hear voices and laughter, as he got closer to the long stone, where his gang was supposed to be. He saw them sorting through everything they had taken off the carriage, placing it all into bags. He must have been walking louder than he thought because one of their heads snapped up to look in his direction.

“Fitz!” Lance Hunter greeted with a smile, which quickly fell off his angular face. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Everyone,” he walked into the centre of the group and pulled the body off his shoulders, trying not to sigh in relief. “Meet Lady Jemma Simmons, Ward’s fiancée.”

“What the hell, Fitz?” Daisy gaped, pushing her long black hair back in frustration.

“You were supposed to steal her engagement ring,” Mack boomed, standing to his full towering height. “Not her!”

“And you weren’t supposed to engage with carriage,” Fitz fired back. “Much less taken out by a girl half your size.”

“We had a plan, Fitz,” Daisy sighed.

“Yeah and then the Holy Land rules kicked in didn’ they?” Hunter mused, clapping . “Make a plan, it’s turns to shite, you make a new plan. Fitz is making a new plan. Right?” he turned look at his friend.

“We ransom her back,” Fitz began, running a hand through his curls. “Malick will pay big money for her, he’ll look like a fool otherwise.”

“Plus there was the way Ward was looking a her in Loxley,” Daisy added. “No doubt he wants very much to get his intended back.”

“Are you trying to tell me Ward, Grant Ward, of all people has fallen in love?” Hunter snorted.

“No, I’m saying he wants to bed her,” Daisy smirked. “And Lady Jemma has done nothing so far but give him blue balls.”

“Good for her,” Mack laughed

Hunter nodded his agreement. 

“Gather up the gear, we can finish sorting it later. Let’s get her back to camp, before she wakes up,” Fitz ordered, heaving her onto his shoulders again. “Lets go.”

*

Jemma woke up groggy and uncomfortable. Her neck was stiff and there was something digging into her back. She tried raised her arms to stretch out the kinks, but she couldn't. Blinking away the fogginess, she felt something rough against her back, her arms were down at her sides and there was something tight across her torso. She was bound, she realized, tied to a tree most likely.

“There she is. Welcome back to the land of the living, Lady Jemma,” a voice broke in, was that a Scottish accent she heard? Jemma looked up, the man Loxley there, his blue eyes still shining. It all came back to her, the carriage, the forest, the field, she was his prisoner now. “We have some questions for you.”

Jemma said nothing, as she looked around, taking in her surroundings. “Answer honestly and no harm will come to you.”

She was deep in the woods, the tree canopy thick. There was a hill to her left, but no that wasn't right, it looked like someone had removed the side of it, peeled up the dirt and dead brush to reveal a hollow underneath, filled with panels, a table, shelves and that’s just what she could see from her tree. It was his hideout, she figured, it very intricate. “If you refuse,” the Scot continued. “I will string you up and use you for target practice. And assure you, I don't miss.”

“What’s the point of practice if you don't miss?” She finally spoke.

Fitz smirked, some recognition at last. “Archery is a skill Milady, and skills require practice. No matter how naturally talented one is.”

“You know what happens to those with exorbitant hubris, don’t you?’ Jemma sneered.

“So you like hiding behind big words do you?” He grinned.

“What’s your name?” she asked

“Fitz,” he answered simply.

“Fitz-what?”

“Just Fitz,” he shrugged.

“Fitz is a patronymic surname,” Jemma began slowly, like talking to a small child. “It means ‘son of’; like Fitzroy, Fitzgibbon, or Fitzwalter. So which is it?”

“It’s just Fitz,” he said again. “This is Hunter, Mack and Daisy.” He pointed each in turn as they sat around a fire pit a short ways away.

Jemma rolled eyes; she didn't need to know all their names, she didn't want to know their names. “What’s a Scot doing this far south anyways?”

“There are lots of Scots in England, Milady. Especially Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire.” Fitz explained. “Now I’ve answered your questions, your turn to answer some of mine. We’ll start with a simple one; why Grant Ward?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You hear me, Milady.”

“Hearing you is not the problem,” Jemma challenged. “I’m afraid I don't know what you mean by ‘why Grant Ward?’ you’ll have to elaborate.”  
“You need more elaboration? You mean aside from than the fact that he’s a deranged cretin?” Fitz said with a scoffed. “Why would you choose to tie yourself to that reprobate?”

“‘Cretin’, ‘reprobate’,” Jemma gave a smirk of her own. “Who’s hiding behind big words now?” 

“We’re peasants, Milady, not imbeciles…except perhaps for Hunter,” Fitz gestured with a small grin. “I can read, so can much of my gang. Answer the question.”

Jemma sighed, “I have to marry him,” Fitz raised an eyebrow. “For Knighton.”

“What good does you marrying Grant Ward do for Knighton?”

“There was a fire, two years ago,” She started, swallowing back the lump in her throat at the memory. “The fields were decimated, no crops, no grass for cattle, nothing. Even now, nothing grows. In exchange for marrying his nephew, Sheriff Malick promised money, tools for recovery, a stay in taxes. The world to a starving village. ”

Fitz took a deep breath that was a good reason. He hadn’t been expecting that. He was about to respond, offer his apologies, when shout of anger cut him off.

“You left me behind,” a tall blonde stormed into clearing, throwing a mess of fish at Hunter. “Again!”

Fitz winced. “That’s Bobbi.”

“I go fishing, and you’re all here complaining about who’s turn it is to gut them, I come back you’re all gone!”

“You not ready to be out in field yet, Love,” Hunter defended.

“That isn’t your call to make!”

“No,” Fitz intervened. “It’s mine. Bobbi you’re still limping, you complained of pain after training yesterday, and I didn't want to risk it. You’re too valuable to chance doing more harm to your knee. So I made the call, but Hunter was supposed to tell you.” He turned to glare at his friend. Bobbi opened her mouth to argue with him, but Fitz cut her off. “We have bigger issues right now Bob,” he gestured his head at Jemma.

“What she doing here?” Bobbi stormed over to them.

“Oh, thank God,’ Hunter muttered quietly, picking up the fish.

Fitz hung his head; all this time and Hunter still never learn when to keep mouth shut.  
Bobbi glared at him. “I’m not done with you.”

“I told you, it was Fitz who –”

“Later!” Fitz barked. 

“What fine control of your group you have,” Jemma smiled innocently.

Fitz glowered. “Tell me more about this marriage, what else did Malick promise you?”

“Nothing,” she locked her eyes with his, they were so blue. “Just that he would provide for Knighton, ensure that my people wouldn't all be dead by this time next year.”

Fitz nodded and walked, leaving Jemma tied to her tree. He had some thinking to do.

*

She dozed off again; not asleep but not really awake either. What would they do with her? Would they kill her? Based on everything she’d heard of them they avoided death at all cost, but they had never kidnapped before either, would she break that mold too? 

A throat cleared, and she looked up, blinking sluggishly; Fitz was back, plate of food in hand. He crouched down in front of her and held up a piece of meat to her mouth, an offering. “I hope you like squirrel, Milady.”

“It’s chicken,” Hunter called from the fire.

“You keep saying that but I don’t see any feathers, nor anything else that looks like it could have once been part of a chicken,” Fitz countered over his shoulder. “And you know what else I haven’t seen around camp lately? Squirrels!” 

“It’s not squirrel!”

Fitz shook his head with a laugh and turned back toward Jemma. “Well, be it squirrel or chicken, it’s food, it’s warm and it doesn’t taste half bad. Eat.” He held a large hunk of meat out for her again.

Jemma eyed it suspiciously, had they poisoned it? There were plenty of plants in forest they could have added to do it.

Fitz rolled eyes and took a large. “We’re not going kill you Milady,” he swallowed. “And we don't want you to starve, so please.” 

Jemma took big bite, juices down chin, and moaned. It was good, definitely not chicken though, it had gamy texture like lamb or venison, but it good none the less. She another big mouthful and another until the offered meal was gone. “Thank you,” she gave her captor a small, but genuine smile.

Fitz nodded. “Are the ropes hurting you? Can still feel your arms?” Jemma nodded. “Good,” he rose to his feet. “Well goodnight then, Milady.” 

A whistle came from the fire pit where the other outlaws were gathered. Daisy she thought name was, chortled. “That was very charming of you Fitz; you use that same warmth to catch Ophelia too?”

Jemma watched as Fitz stiffened, she could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, and walked sharply back into their shelter. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mack hissed to the young woman.

“I’m sorry,” she blinked. “I don't know what that was, I just…”

“Well next time don't just,” the large man huffed. “Lets just turn in, we could all use the sleep.”

Jemma watched as the outlaws filtered into the shelter, Hunter quickly tucking a blanket around her on his way. What the hell was all that about? Who was Ophelia? And what happened with her to make Fitz react that that at just the mere mention of her name?

She was roused again hours later, it was pitch black now that the fire had died, but she had no idea the exact time. Shrugging her shoulders, trying to relieve the ache in her back she was amazed at how much movement she had compared to earlier. Her bonds they were loose, Jemma pushed the ropes away from her body and lifted her arms above her head. The stretch hurt, but it was a welcome on after being tied up for so long. But how had it happened, an animal perhaps? She look around the tree, vowing silently to never again eat another squirrel if it turned out one of the furry little rats had granted her freedom. “Psst,” Jemma turned sharply at the town, and came face to face with Elena.

“What are you doing here?” Jemma grabbed her arm, pulling her friend away from the camp.

“Shhh,” Elena hushed. “Quiet. We don't wake them.”

 

They both looked to shelter, but everything remained still. “Elena, how did you get here?”

“I followed you, you know how fast I am,” Jemma nodded, her friend was the fastest person in Knighton and had been since she arrived there when they were children. “I went back to Nottingham, to get Malick, to bring help, but he had different idea for Fitz.”

“You told Malick who he was?” Jemma was shocked, though she didn't quite know why.

“No,” Elena shook her head. “He knew. I think he’s always known who the Archer was, he was just never able to catch him.”

“So he allowed the Archer’s story to grow, but dismissed them as rumours, different gangs committing similar crimes, instead of admitting he was being outwitted by the same person over and over, clever,” Jemma shook her head, anything to save face that man. “And, is he coming?” 

“No,”

“What do you mean no?”

“Malick wants you to bring Fitz and his crew in,” Elena explained. “He wants to make an example out of them, especially after the attack on our carriage.”

“And he wants me to what? Lead them into a trap?” Jemma backed away. “I can’t do that. You know I’m a horrible liar, and besides – “

“If you don’t,” Elena cut off her rant. “Malick will have Knighton raised to the ground, cut the losses and move on, he said.”

“You can’t be serious?” Jemma gasped. There was no way; Malick may be Sheriff but he couldn't just kill off an entire village like that, King Richard would never stand for it.

“He’s confident he’ll have no issue with Prince John,” Elena relayed. 

Jemma sunk to her knees and ran her hands through her hair. Her head was pounding, her villagers or the lives of five people? Her home or some strangers? There was really only one option, but she didn't relish in it. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think. Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter Three

Morning came with the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and a string of other noises that Fitz tried block out for long as he could. But it was no use, once he was awake, he was awake for the day, as much as he’d like to continue sleeping. It wasn't all that bad he supposed, there were lots of things he did like about mornings. Sunrises, the fog that nestled on forest floor like a blanket, the stillness that stood while everything was just waking up for the day, and breakfast. Some eggs maybe with a rasher of bacon when they could get it, toast, it wasn't bad. That being said there were lots of things he hated about mornings too. Coming face to face with one of his own arrows, for instance.

Lady Jemma Simmons stood in front of the shelter’s entrance, holding his bow, an arrow aimed at his chest. “Good morning, Fitz,” she greeted cheerfully, arm wavering under pressure of the draw.

“Lady Jemma,” he nodded, his hands slightly raised. “How did you get loose?”

“That’s for me to know.” 

“I’m impressed,” it was truth, this was not something he expected from her. He nodded to the arrow tip. “Have you ever actually shot a bow before?”

“I’m sure from this distance, I’ll hit something important.”

She wasn't wrong.

“Hey Fitz, what’s for breakfa-” Daisy, Hunter and Bobbi all walked out their bunks.

“Mack get out here,” Bobbi switched mid sentence. “NOW!”

“We can rush you, you know,” Hunter threatened.

“Before I loose the arrow?’ Jemma taunted. “I don't think so.”

“Hunter don't move,’ Fitz ordered. “What is it you want Milady?”

“You know we’ll catch you if you run,” Hunter piped up again.

Fitz glared over his shoulder. “Shut it.”

“If I wanted to run, I would have left hours ago,” Jemma glared at Hunter as well. 

“Why didn't you, Lady Jemma?” Bobbi asked gently, respectfully. At least someone in his gang had sense.

“Because I have a proposition for you instead.”

“And what might that be?” Bobbi continued.

“The tax money for the whole of the North is coming through Nottingham in a week’s time,” Jemma let the bow down, Fitz let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I can help you get it, you just have to let me join your gang in the mean time.”

Fitz rose slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving Jemma’s.

“She’s lying,” Hunter rushed forward to grab her.

Fitz threw out an arm to block him, while Mack, finally out in the common area, grabbed the back of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Hunter argued as Mack wrapped him in a headlock. “We can grab her.”

“She gotten out once, she can do it again,” Fitz pointed out.

“Besides,” Mack put in. “She’s telling the truth.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Daisy asked.

“Because I used to have to make extra strong boxes this time of year,” Mack explained. “What else would they be for if not taxes?”

“Same with me,” Fitz nodded. “Dozens of them.”

“There’s only a week to prepare,” Jemma cut in. “But you’re looking at enough money to feed the whole shire for a year. I know the castle, the guard rotation, the quickest way to strong room and back out again. Let me help you.”

“Why?” Daisy asked, but it wasn’t accusatory. “What’s in it for you?”

“I want out of my marriage to Grant.”

“So you want us to what?” Hunter wheezed from under Mack’s arm. “Gut the bastard?” 

“No,” Jemma denied, vehemently. “Our marriage promised resources to Knighton. Resouces I won’t need if you promise to provide some of the money I’m helping you steal to my village. I want your word that this will happen.”

“We never knew things in Knighton were so bad,” Fitz offered by way of apology.

Jemma shook head, how could they? Knighton was an outlier, far away in comparison to the rest of the villages.

“What about your family?” Bobbi asked. “Malick kill them if he finds out you helped us.”

“It only me and my father,” Jemma explained. “ I can keep my face hidden, you can spread news of my death. Then we can get word to my father about what’s really happened, that I hope to see him again someday, when it’s safe.”

The outlaws all looked at each other, silent communication. Jemma bit her lip and waited. Praying they would agree. 

“I don't know about this Fitz,” Hunter whispered as they gathered in a circle.

“Do you have a better plan?” Mack asked him. “This is a lot of money we’re talking about.”

“Maybe, I do.”

“To what?” Jemma’s voice cut in, and they all turned to look at her. “Use me as a pawn? Ransom me back? There is no way Malick goes for that. He won’t risk looking weak in the eyes of the populace.”

“It’s your call Fitz,” Daisy told him.

Fitz bit lip; Jemma could see him weighing the pros and cons in his head. She brought her hands up to her neck, she needed something to push it in her favour, when it hit her. “Take this,” she pulling off her necklace and held it out to him. "A sign of good faith."

Fitz held out his hand and Jemma dropped the chain into it. “Ok,” he nodded, meeting Jemma’s eyes.

“‘Ok?’” Hunter balked. “‘Ok?’ You’re taking her word because of some necklace?”

“No Hunter, I’m - ” Fitz was cut off by loud clanging from the woods.

“The signal,” Daisy smiled. “There’s a rider on the road.”

“We’ll discuss this more when we get back,” Fitz tucked the silver rose into a pouch on his belt. “Bobbi, stay here; watch her.”

“What?”

“Lets go,” he continued and moved out into the forest, the rest of the gang trailing behind him.

*

“This is ridiculous,” Bobbi fumed as she sat down by fire.

“So why don't we just go after them?” Jemma asked sitting next to her.

“You heard Fitz, we’re to stay here. You’re not allowed to leave camp.”

“I didn't hear him say that,” Jemma shrugged innocently.

“It was implied and you know it,” Bobbi frowned.

“It’s not like I’m going to run off,” Jemma defended.

“That’s exactly what we think you’re going to do.”

“I swear, Bobbi, I just want to help. I want to be useful.” The blonde stared at her, her blue eyes piercing much like her leaders. “It’d be a good opportunity to show them how ready you are,” Jemma tempted.

“Fine,” Bobbi agreed. “Come on, the trap is this way.”

She followed Bobbi through woods, struggling to match pace with tall woman’s strides. “If you don't keep up, I’ll leave you to wonder the forest for the rest of your life.”

“I know the way back to camp,” Jemma spoke before she realized what she was saying. 

“How?” Bobbi turned allowing for Jemma catch up. “Hunter said you were unconscious when Fitz brought you in.”

“You see those ferns over there? The ones with the browning leaves?” Jemma pointed to the left of them. “It’s a kind of rot. All of the ferns here have it, something in the soil I’d wager. And over there a little ahead and off to the right, do you see those yellow flowers? They’re called Oxlip. It's fascinating really, they’re extremely rare in these parts; stand out like a sore thumb. Perhaps someone brought them here from elsewhere.”

“You can read the plants,” Bobbi was stunned.

“It’s a great skill to have if you get lost. Or left behind,” she side eyed the other woman.

Bobbi led them on until they reached a patch of bushes by the roadside. A carriage was stopped, the driver attempting to calm the spooked horses. It very much mirrored how they had attacked her own carriage, and just like then Jemma had no idea where the others were. Out of no where the sound of shattering glass filled the air as the lantern beside the coach seat smashed, an arrow sticking out of it. From the tree line next to them three cloaked figures emerged, shapes she now recognized as Daisy, Hunter, and Mack. She craned her head around trying to spot Fitz amongst the branches, but it was no use, wherever he was, he was well hidden.

She turned her attention back to the other outlaws and watched as they rushed the carriage. Three armed men exited, there weren’t Malick’s guards, but they were well equipped and ready for a fight. While inside the carriage, a well-dressed man remained, his head peaking out the window, eager to see the battle so long as he didn’t have to partake in it. It was fascinating how well the outlaws worked together. Mack, no doubt due to his size drew two of the carriage’s guards to him while Daisy dealt with the third. This left Hunter free to take care of the man in the carriage, this is also where things took a turn.

Hunter had pulled the man, blubbering in his finery, out of the carriage and had him on the ground with little more than a few unheard words and a gesture of his blade. They watched as he pulled the bags off the back, ready to be sorted through when one of the guards crept up behind him, sword raised high. Bobbi let out a ferocious yell as she leapt forward from their hiding spot, pulling a pair of staves from behind her back; she launched her attack at the man. Jemma was stunned as she watched Bobbi twist and turn smacking the guard every which, they didn’t think the woman was ready for the field?

An arrow whizzed through the air embedding itself into the man’s shoulder, dropping he and his sword to the ground. Bobbi slammed her staves across his head for good measure. Fitz had properly entered the fray now, emerging from the trees and leaping at the first guard he came across. Hunter, no worse for wear, resume his raid on carriage, Jemma saw her chance. She knew of the secret compartments many of the wealthy had started installing after Fitz’s gang came onto the scene, and stepped out to aid Hunter in his search. It wasn't a huge contribution, she couldn't fight like them, but it was something at least. 

She felt Fitz’s gaze on her as soon as she stepped out, and that’s when she saw it, a gleam to the left of him. The guard he’d dispatched had risen to his feet, a dagger now in his hand. Jemma rushed forward, pushing Fitz out of way with all her might. She hit the ground headfirst, pain blooming behind her eyes almost immediately. She tried to sit up, but it was no use. Shapes formed around her, the bleary outlines of people, then there were shadows, until finally the darkness pulled her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy guys, and Happy Holidays.

Fitz gritted his teeth as Bobbi and Hunter argued back and forth once again.

“You were told to watch her!” 

“It’s not like I let her go off by herself! I was with her!” 

“You were supposed to stay here!”

“I–”

“SHUT IT!” Fitz’s temper finally got the better of him. “For the love of God! Would you two just shut up and stop snipping at each other for five minutes.” He turned back to Jemma, she looked so small laying there in his bunk, the furs tucked up to her chin.

“But she –”

“I don't care,” Fitz clipped. A groan from the bed drew all the outlaws’ attentions back to the still figure laying there. 

Jemma squinted her eyes against the pounding pain in her head; she didn't want to open her eyes. 

“Jemma,” a feminine voice rang out, it was too loud. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” did she say that out loud? She wasn't sure. Stretching her stiff limbs she gasped as pain shot through leg, and sat bolt up.

“Careful,” Mack placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don't get up. You got quite the cut you have on leg, we patched it up best could, but it’s going to be sore.”

Jemma pulled the furs off her body and looked down at her leg, wrapped in a blood soaked bandage, she needed to get a look at it herself. “Pass me my bag.” 

“What?” Daisy questioned.

“My bag,” Jemma repeated. “It should have been brought with me, I had it when Fitz tackled me in the field.”

“Here it is,” Hunter handed over her small satchel.

She tore it open and dug through until she found the jar she was looking for. Pulling it out she passed it to a flummoxed Fitz as she turned to the bandage on her leg. It was well wrapped she noted as she peeled the wrappings carefully to get a good look at her wound. Fitz groaned when the bandages fell away and turned his head to look in the opposite direction. “Doing alright there, Fitz?” she couldn't keep the smile off her face, he was not the first man she met who didn't like blood.

“Not really,” at least he admitted it. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a salve, to help stop bleeding and allow the wound to heal faster,” she explained as she spread the paste, a mixture of yarrow and beeswax, over the cut then pulled out needle and thread. “How did I get this?”

“The guard, when you pushed me out of the way, Mack shoved him from behind. His dagger caught your leg on the way down.” 

“What are you doing now?” Daisy questioned as Jemma brought the needle closer to her leg.

“Wrapping a wound only does so much,” she winced as the needle pushed through her skin. “Not that whoever wrapped it didn't do a good job, they did. But this wound needs to be closed or it will get infected.”

“Do you know lots about medicines and stuff”’ Fitz asked, grey faced.

“Yes,” she pushed the needle through again, Fitz moaned. “My father encouraged me learn all I could about it, as a way help our villagers. Physicians are some of the greatest thieves you know.”

“Really?” Bobbi spoke up, her eyes affixed on what Jemma was doing.

“They can be. They’ll charge an outrageous fee talking about things like humours, and blood letting, it’s ludicrous.”

“Thank you,” Fitz said suddenly, still refusing to look at her.

“I beg pardon?”

“Getting that,” he nodded at leg as she wrapped bandages around her leg again. “You pushed me out of way, that guard would have had my head if not for you, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fitz took deep breath. “You can stay.”

“I can?”

“There will be some ground rules,” he supplied. “But yes. Once you’re feeling better, I want you go through our medicines. We don't have much, so take stock of what we have, improve it, teach us what we need to do to better help the people. Teach us how to better help ourselves.”

*

The next few days passed quickly, the romantic idea she’d always had of outlaws laying about forest, not a care in world, was proven more than false. They were constantly on the go, planning, gathering supplies, getting news from the villages; the tasks went on and on. Jemma was usually with Bobbi and Mack, collecting plants for medicines, showing them how to make various salves and tonics, tearing cloth down into bandages. They spent the largest amount of time getting to the villages to pass out the money they stole, all on foot. 

They just entered Loxley village, their last stop for the day, their bags filled with sacks of coins and packages of food. Fitz had Jemma bring her medical supplies as well, there was often a villager or two with an illness or an injury that would benefit from a good look over. It was wonderful seeing the villagers this way, town after town their faces brightened when Fitz and the rest handed out their wares. She watched as Fitz sat crouched in front of a young boy, no older than five, with an egg in his hand, making it disappear and reappear out of his ear. It made her smile as she listened to the boy giggle in that infectious way only children can. It also made her stomach twist, how could she possibly turn him in after this? 

Before now rumours of Fitz and his gang’s generosity had run rampant of course, but they had only been rumours. Seeing it first hand, the effect they had on the villagers, they were happy, they were cared for, they had hope. The money and the food, it wasn't much, it couldn't be, not with so many to feed, but it was enough, the knowledge that someone cared enough to help, it was a powerful thing. What would happen to the villagers of Nottingham after she led the gang into the trap? Were they really a necessary source of survival? It seemed so, but her hands were tied. She had to or her own villagers were dead, that was a guarantee now, but the image of Fitz bloodied and beaten, felt equally as bad to her now.

“So what do you think, Lady Jemma?” Fitz asked as they moved to the next cottage.

“I think the villagers are lucky to have you,” she answered honesty. “Though I must admit, I’m still a bit confused as to why you need to do what you do. I know Knighton and why it’s so bad there, but Clunn? Loxley? What’s so bad this close to the centre of everything?”

“What day is it?” he quizzed.

Jemma raised an eyebrow, what did this have to do with her question. “It’s Wednesday.”

“It’s market day,” he clarified and pointed a finger to a man well centre village. “Yet there is the pieman. Here, at home, in the middle of the day, instead of selling his wares in Nottingham. The chandler, the draper, everyone; it’s all the same. People can barely even afford to work, let alone afford all these taxes. It used to be a tithe was a tenth of the yearly earnings, now Malick is calling for a new tax almost every month. The people can’t keep up; that’s where we come in.”

“It’s not for nothing,” Jemma put in. “The taxes help King Richard in the Holy Land.”

Fitz laughed darkly. “I don’t know what the money is doing, but it sure as hell isn’t getting to the Holy Land. Not enough soldiers, not enough food to feed the ones they already have, supplies being pilfered by pirates, whole units being obliterated and Richard’s determination to get involved in every little skirmish between here and Acre. My guess is, it’s all going to John and his dinner parties.”

“You were in the Holy Land?” Jemma asked. “Is that where you learned how to shoot a bow?”

“No,” his eyes darkened. “No, I’ve always been good at that. How you shoot a bow, it’s always just made sense to me. In here.” He tapped his head. Jemma didn’t know what to say. “So, money, clothes, food, whatever people need really,” he changed subject. “We try and supply. Some villages are worse off than others. It’s why we’re barely ever in Knighton; we had no idea things were so bad. We’d always heard how good the Lord of the manor was to his people, figured they all were well looked after.”

Jemma smiled. “My father figures, and I agree, that as caretakers of the land, it is our duty to take care of everything on the land, that includes the people. My favourite nights are always Saturdays, we have this big dinner, invite the whole village. Those who are sick or to weary to make it to the house, we make sure food gets taken to them, that way we’re assured that at least for one night, they’ve had something to eat.”

“Well, I wish more nobles were like you,’ Fitz grinned at her. “And your father of course.”

“Of course,” Jemma repeated, and tucked some hair behind her ear. “Fitz, I have to –”

“FITZ!!!” a shout cut Jemma off as a man ran towards them.

“Geoffrey?” Fitz recognized. “What is it?”

“It’s Simon and little Alice,” the man, Geoffrey, choked as he skidded to a stop in front of them. “They were playing in the forest, and when they came back. Simon, he’s so sick. He can’t stop throwing up, his fever it…”

“Calm down,” Fitz put a hand on his shoulder. “This is Jemma, she’s just joined us, and she’s a healer.”

“Take me to your son,” she already had plans in head, ideas of what it could be plaguing the boy. “I’ll do every thing I can.”

“Thank you, thank you. This way,” the older man pulled them along. Fitz shouted to Daisy to gather rest of gang and meet them at Geoffrey’s cottage.

The home was small. One room really, and in the corner on the cot was a lump, Simon, Jemma assumed, covered in piles of blankets, a young girl sitting next to him. 

“Fitz,” the girl rushed from the bedside and buried her tear stained face into his stomach. “Fitz, Simon’s really sick.”

“I know, Alice” he kneeled in front of her. “This is my friend Jemma, she’s going to take care of him.”

“Really?” Alice turned her teary little eyes to her.

“I am,” Jemma nodded gently. “Can you take me to him?” The girl nodded and grabbed her hand, pulling her over to the bed. Jemma sat next to Simon, pulled down the covers and placed her head to his chest. "Laboured breathing,” she said aloud, though she wasn't really talking to anyone. She placed the back of her hand on the little boy’s forehead, “He’s burning up. Simon can you hear me?”

A groan sounded from the boy, but no words.

“Fitz get me a cold rag for his head. Alice,” she turned little girl. “Was Simon sick before you went to the forest to play?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“What are you thinking?” Fitz handed her the cloth, but she wasn't sure, there were so many things. The door burst open, the rest of the gang filter in with Geoffrey.

“How bad is it?” Geoffrey croaked.

“Fever, and vomiting, but no marks, and he wasn't feeling ill before he and Alice went play.” Jemma responded. 

“And that’s good?” 

“It means it’s likely not a contagion,” she turned to the little girl. “Alice I need you tell me exactly what you and Simon did in the woods.”

“We played.”

“What did you play?” Jemma encouraged.

“Tag.”

“Did you do anything else?”

“We gathered some mushrooms for supper.”

“Did Simon eat any of the mushrooms before your brought them home?”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“You brought the mushrooms back right?” Alice nodded. “Can you show me?”

Alice ran outside and raced back in with a bag, and handed it to Jemma. She dumped it out on the bed and began to riffle through. There were some horse mushrooms, field mushrooms, penny buns and wood ears to name a few. “Daddy makes best mushroom soup,” Alice beamed as she watched Jemma’s hands.

“Wait until you’ve tried mine,” Hunter chimed in. 

Jemma glared at him as she sorted through the rest until finally one caught her eye. “Alice this the kind mushroom Simon ate?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed looking at the red and white speckled mushroom. “It's a Scarlet Hood. Simons said it’s just got a little rot on it. He said it’d be fine.”

“Alright Alice," Jemma smiled and ran a hand through the girls hair. “You’ve been a big help, thank you.”

“Can I sit with Simon, now?”

“Of course you can sweetheart.”

“What wrong with him?” Geoffrey rushed, as Jemma came over to adults.

“Mushroom poisoning,” she held up the offender. “This is fly agaric, easily confused with Scarlet Hoods, especially to a child.”

“They’re not very dangerous,” Hunter interjected. “I’ve eaten them before, sure I was sick for a few days, but was fine in the end.”

“Because you’re an adult,” Jemma explained. “But Simon’s a little boy, this is killing him.” 

“What do we do?” Bobbi cut in across Hunter.

Jemma swung her bag up into the blonde’s arms and dig through it. “I know I have some in here somewhere.”

“What are you looking for?” Daisy peered into bag.

“Here it is,” Jemma pulled vial out of bag. “Belladonna.”

“‘Belladonna?’” Mack gapped. “You want to poison him?”

“It’s a tonic,” Jemma fired back. “It’s not like I’m shoving the plant down his throat,” she turned and looked to Geoffrey. “I swear it will help him.”

“A poison to fight a poison,” Fitz surmised. “Cancels each other out.”

“Yes, sort of,” Jemma acknowledged.

“Do it,” Geoffrey sniffed. “He’s dead if you don’t.”

Jemma nodded sat beside Alice on mattress. “I’m going to give your brother this,” she held up the bottle. “And hopefully in a few minutes, he’ll start to feel a bit better. Does that sound good?”

The little girl smiled up at her and nodded. Jemma unstoppered the bottle and gently tipped smallest amount of the liquid into Simon’s mouth. 

“Is it working?” Alice asked as soon as she pulled away.

“We have to wait just a little bit,” Jemma smoothed the girl’s hair. “It won’t be long.” 

Jemma, Alice, the outlaws and Geoffrey waited, watching Simon’s stuttering little breaths. After what felt life forever, the boy let out deep sigh and his eyes fluttered open. A sigh of relief sounded from all around the small cottage. Jemma ducked down and felt the boy’s sweaty head, his fever was lessened. She listened to his chest and found it much clearer than earlier. “He’s going to be alright,” she declared with a smile. 

“Thank you,” Geoffrey pulled her into a big hug. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she patted him on the back. “He’s going to need time still. A few days rest. He needs plenty to drink, water and broths. Keep checking his fever and if anything seems worse you send word.” 

“Of course, I will,” Geoffrey shook her hand vigorously. 

“We’ll be back to check on him in a few days,” Fitz shook his hand too.

“Good job Jemma,” Bobbi arm around shoulder after they exited the house. “You’ve got to teach me some of this stuff.”

The rest of the gang echoed similar words to Bobbi, but Fitz remained silent. She looked over at him and he shot her grin, his blue eyes shining as bright as ever seen them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Yes Belladonna (Deadly Nightshade) elixirs were actually used to treat certain ailments  
> -No, the symptoms would likely not ease up this quickly, but hey creative licence


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone alive after yesterdays episode? Yeah? Great! Have a new chapter to celebrate all the excellence we got last night! 
> 
> Also as a warning: we learn more about Fitz's past with Ophelia in this one, nothing explicit, but she is here. And if you are an Ophelia fan, this is not the chapter for you.

“It’s time for a little celebration!” Hunter declared as the arrived back at camp. “I know we’ve got cask of ale somewhere ‘round here.”

“Hunter we're saving that for Christmas,” Bobbi protested.

“C’mon Bob, it was a good day!” 

“You say that every time we hit the towns.”

“We saved a life, an actual life!” 

“No, Jemma saved a life.”

“Yeah, well…we let her join our gang!”

“Fitz made that call, it had nothing to do with you, you idiot!”

“God would you learn to live a little and stop being such a Hellbeast!”

“What did you just call me?” she stepped closer, her voice threatening.

“You heard me,” Hunter raised his chin, standing firm.

“Why don't you stand up and say it again.” 

“Oh come on, you’re like an inch taller than me.”

Jemma watched as they got closer and closer, trading quips with each step until finally the barbs stopped, their chests heaving, they collided with one another. She had thought for a moment they were trying to wrestle one another to the ground, but then Bobbi let out a moan. This wasn't an embrace of anger it was one of passion.

“For God’s sake you have bunks!” Mack shouted as he came back to the fire pit with more wood. 

“Two of them,” Fitz added as he dumped his own armful of logs to the ground. 

They broke apart, Bobbi grabbed her partners hand and lead him inside, giggles followed as they went, Jemma couldn't tell from who.

“So they’re…” she trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“Together?” Daisy offered. “Oh yeah. Fighting’s like foreplay for them. Once they get like this we won’t see them for the rest of the night. We’ll certainly hear them though.”

Fitz rolled his and grabbed his bow. “Come with me Milady, I have something I want to show you anyway.”

*  
Jemma followed Fitz through woods neither speaking as they moved through the trees. 

“Thank you,” he suddenly broke in. “For what you did for Simon.”

“Oh,” she blinked. “Really it was no trouble, I was happy I could help. Where are we going?”

“I told you have something to show you; it’s not much further,” he smiled. “Also I want to get to know you a little better, figured this was the as good an opportunity as any.” 

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you learn all this medicine stuff?” He started.

“My mother taught me.”

“And your father? What does he think of all of it?”

“That he had a very clever wife and too clever a daughter,” she joked and Fitz laughed. “He always encouraged it, saw it as a skill to help the people.”

“That it is,” he led them deeper forest. “What happened to your mother, if don't mind asking?”

“She died, five years ago,” she swallowed thickly. “She was very ill, none of our treatments helped and she refused a physician for the longest time. When she finally allowed one to see her there was nothing he could do.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered her a solemn smile. “My mother died too, while I was away. It’s not a loss you easily forget.”

Silence fell over them again until Jemma broke it. “So what is it we’re doing out here?”

“Other than escaping having to awkwardly sit around a fire pretending we don't hear the noises that Bobbi and Hunter are making?” he laughed. “I wanted to show you this.”

They stopped and Jemma looked around. They were in a beautiful glen, with tall, strong trees, moss covered rocks, grass swaying the gentle breeze.

“This is –”

“Shh,” he put a finger to her lips. “Look over there.”

Jemma looked across the clearing and saw a deer, eating leaves off a shrub. “Oh, Fitz, it’s beautiful.”

He placed his bow in her hands and stood behind her. “It’s also dinner.”

“No,” she craned her head over her shoulder. “You’re really going to kill that poor deer?”

“Well I was going to have you do it,” he shrugged. “We have to eat Jemma. More over we have villagers to feed and that stag does both.”

“But it’s just there, eating,” she argued. “It isn’t doing any harm.”

“What harm does a pig do?” Fitz challenged. “Or a chicken, a cow, a swan? And are you really going to tell me you’ve never had venison? You realize that’s deer right?’

Jemma flushed. “Of course I know it’s deer, I just…”

“It won’t go to waste,” Fitz offered. “The meat, the hide, the antlers, even the bones, they’ll all be used. Now are you ready to take a shot?”

“Me?” she was shocked. “I’ve never actually fired a bow before.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he smiled. “I won’t make you do it if you don’t want to, all I’m asking is for you to give it a try.” Jemma nodded and Fitz repositioned himself behind her, correcting her grip on the bow. 

“Place your fingers here,” he adjusted them along the string. “Nice and light, don’t make a fist. Relax your shoulders,” he slid his hand along her arm squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. 

“Try and bring this elbow behind your head,” he tapped the arm holding the string. “These notches here are for aiming,” he pointed out. “Ten, twenty, thirty and forty yards. You ready?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her back.

Jemma nodded. 

“Remember to take a breath first,” he backed away a little, but Jemma could still feel the heat radiating off of him. “Loose the arrow when you’re ready.”  
Taking one last breath Jemma looked at the deer and let go of the string.

“Good hit Jemma,” Fitz roared, as he watched the stag fall. He took bow from her hands and wrapped arm around her. “We’ll be eating well tonight and we have you to thank for it.”

Jemma smiled, it felt good. Not killing the animal, she wasn't sure if she’d ever do that again, but the praise Fitz gave her. The pride she felt in her accomplishment, she had felt it back in Loxley too. It was strange, a part of her had broken when she became engaged to Ward. The knowledge that she’d ever be truly useful again, that she’d never really help anyone again, not in the way she wanted at least. It was better to turn her brain off to it, focus on the larger picture. But now here it was, that feeling that always coursed through her when she was practicing medicine, pride, in a place she never would have expected. Her stomach turned suddenly, she would be turning them in, what would happen to that feeling then, what would happen to them?

“Jemma?” Fitz called from by deer. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” she lied, forcing smile on face as she walked over. She helped Fitz heave the beast onto his shoulders and they journeyed back to camp.

*

They feasted well that night, as promised, but when she turned in for the night sleep eluded her. The bunk was comfortable, the furs were soft and warm and it had been a long, busy day, by rights she should have been asleep, but the noise. Apparently during her excursion with Fitz, Hunter and Bobbi hadn’t warn themselves out enough; Daisy hadn’t been kidding about them going all night.

She left the bunk and wandered out into main area of the shelter, it was really an impressive structure. Built in the narrow between two hills, with a trap door that swung down and hid it from view. On the inside everything was walled and floored, everyone had a private bunk, there was a space to store their goods, and it had enough space out front for them to have a common area where they planned out their missions.

“Can’t sleep either?” a deep voice broke in from behind her. Startled she turned, Mack was sitting at the table, hunched over the cup in front of him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s quite alright,” Jemma dismissed and sat opposite him. “No I couldn't, so I was just admiring this place.”

“Thing of beauty isn’t it?” he looked around himself.

“Is it your design?” she asked. “You were a carpenter right?”

“I was,” he confirmed. “But this was all Fitz. I just helped him put some of it together.”

“Fitz?”

“He was a carpenter too, once upon a time. In Loxley.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Doesn't talk about himself much does he?” Mack grinned. “He and his mum moved down from Scotland when he was a boy, for an apprenticeship with the Loxley carpenter, Radcliffe,” he began, a far away look his eyes. “Thing you got to understand about Fitz is, if you’re his friend, he’ll do anything for you. I mean it that boy would move heaven and earth for the ones he loves. That’s what got him into trouble.”

“Trouble?” she echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Radcliffe had a daughter, Ophelia,” there was that name again, Jemma noted. “Fitz fell for her hard. They had a thing for a while, she told him she loved him, that she would marry him as soon as her father deemed her old enough. That they’d spend their lives together.”

“But that’s not what happened,” Jemma guessed.

“No,” Mack gave a rueful smile. “You see Ophelia didn't actually love Fitz. She just loved that he was devoted to her, that he worshipped her. Everything he had went to her. All the things he made, things I’ve never seen before, things I know only Fitz can craft, she convinced him to let her father have the credit; to get some notoriety for his business. It worked, Fitz worked himself to the bone, her father got more business, which meant more money, and more things for Ophelia. Anything Fitz wanted came second to her desires. Then the Lord of Loxley sent word round; he wanted a local bride for his son and heir. Ophelia couldn't run to him fast enough. They were married and Fitz was heart broken.”

“That’s awful,” She could see why he went rigid at her name.

“I wish that’s where the story ended,” Mack frowned. “When the King moved on the Holy Land, Ophelia’s new husband was ordered to go.”

“What’s that got to do with Fitz?”

“Well Ophelia let slip how good Fitz was with a bow, and the Lord of the Manor sent Fitz into the fray under the guise as his son’s manservant, know what that means?”

“Fitz was fodder, meant to risk his life to save the Lord’s son.”

“And it would get rid of Ophelia’s problem, no Fitz around, no guilt to be had for the things she lied about, assuming she felt any. But things didn't go according to her plan; the King saw Fitz’s skill, both with a bow and with working wood, had him moved to the King’s Guard, the best of the best. Her husband got sent to Tripoli, he died within a month.”

“It’s hard to feel sorry for her.”

“Well, Fitz came home and took almost immediately into the forest," Mack continued. "The things he’d seen, the things he’d done, he couldn't deal with it, he felt like he shouldn't be around people. A few months later, we were all on board, just starting out, when into the woods walks the Madame of the Manor herself. She started to manipulate him all over again; this time playing on his guilt. How it was his fault her husband was dead, how he failed to protect him, how he owed her a debt. She told us of an ruby necklace, a gift from her late husband, how Sheriff Malick had taken it as payment for Loxley not meeting their tax quota. If Fitz would get it back then things would go back to how they were, all would be forgiven and they could would be together again.”

Mack shook his head. “It was all a lie, the necklace was never hers. She had seen it on some harlot of Ward’s and wanted it for herself and Fitz always gave her what she wanted. We raided the castle, but it was a trap. Ophelia went to Malick with our plan, in return he promised her the necklace and a match with a young Duke in Prince John’s inner circle. The guards were able to get drop on us; Bobbi took an arrow through the knee. It’s been a long recovery for her and Fitz still hasn’t forgiven himself for being played.”

Jemma stomach twisted, she bit her lip and frowned.

“Listen Milady,” Mack sighed.

“Jemma, you can call me Jemma.”

“Jemma,” he smiled. “This is sensitive and…” 

“It stays between us,” she gave him a tight smile and patted his hand lamely.

“Well, it sounds like they’ve played themselves out anyways,” he noted the quiet in shelter. “I’m going to try and get some sleep, you should do same.”

Mack's words, 'do the same,' echoed through her mind as she watched him retreat back to the bunks. Was she not doing the same as Ophelia? She was going lead them into a trap, just like Ophelia did. Knowingly and for her own gain. How was she any better than the person already hurt them, who'd hurt Fitz, so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, let me know what you think! Hope you all had a great holiday season and your New Year has started off with a bang!


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all here's another chapter. Let me know what you think.

Jemma tossed and turned as she thought over what Mack had told her. She tried to reassure herself that, unlike Ophelia, her deceit didn’t play with Fitz’s heart; it also wasn’t for her own benefit. She wasn’t and would never do something like this for a simple trinket, but for the good of her people; how many would die in the fires that Malick would set if she didn’t turn Fitz in? Surely that was an understandable cause. But no matter how much she tried to reason with herself, sleep didn't come. She gave it up as a lost cause, dressed and wondered outside, hopeful that some crisp night air would sooth her racing thoughts.

“Sleep eluding you, Milady?” a voice broke out from the fire pit.

Despite her internal raging Jemma couldn't help but smile as sat down next to Fitz. “Are they always so loud?”

He nodded. “I’m jealous of Daisy, she’s the only who seems to be able to sleep through it. Must plug her ears with wax or something.”

They fell into a silence, watching the flames of the fire flicker. It was soothing, the knot that had formed in her stomach eased and a warm comfort that always seemed to come when Fitz was around set in.

“So tell me about Knighton,” he broke in after a while. “I must confess I’ve not been since I before I left on Crusade.”

“It used to be so beautiful,” Jemma smiled and closed her eyes, remembering. “Rolling green hills, dotted with heather and wild flowers, wheat fields and livestock. I used to spend hours when I was a child in my mother’s garden just watching it all; the wind moving the plants like waves on the ocean, the shepherds tending to their flocks. I don't know, maybe it’s just the innocence of a child’s mind, but there was always something so peaceful about home, that didn't seem to exist in villages closer to Nottingham.”

“And after the fire?”

“It isn’t easy,” she confessed. “The people try, but the hills and field have been so damaged. We do what we can, my father and I. We were fortunate, our own fields weren’t touched, so we offer them to the people, free of charge, everyone got an allotment, but it’s no where near enough.”

“Including your mother’s garden?”

“Yes,” she nodded. It had been sad, she had cried, her father had cried, but it was for the greater good, just like what she was doing now.

“So you said she taught you everything you know about medicines?”

“She did. We used to take walks through the garden, she would point out all the plants and flowers, tell me about all their properties, what parts of the plants did what, what mixes cured what illness, it was fascinating. Eventually that turned into helping her make elixirs and tonics, and going with her to villagers homes when they needed her, and learning about treating wounds and such.”

“How do you keep it all straight?” He shook his head. “It seems like so much to remember. Especially given…” he trailed off with a shuddered.

“Blood? Vomit? Bile?” she teased as Fitz’s pallor grew. “I’ve always had a good memory, and like you with a bow, it just makes sense in my mind. But if I ever do forget, I have this,” she reached into her waist pouch pulled out a book and passed it to him.

Fitz flipped through the pages, filled with drawings of flowers, their uses and dangers, recipes and descriptions of illnesses. He closed the front cover; it was bound in beautiful, soft, dark leather, a flower engraved on the front. “Roses her were her favourite,” Jemma’s fingers traced the etching.

“Why?” he raised an eyebrow. “What good is a rose? Other than looking pretty? They don't even smell that nice.”

She took the book from hand with a sly grin, flipped through near the back. “The dried leaves make a tea, which can be used to treat headaches. If you allow that tea to cool you can gargle it to sooth a sore throat. Soak the petals in water and honey for stomach pains,” she recited, not needing to read the familiar handwriting. “A rag soaked in water and crushed petals bring down the swelling of inflamed wounds. And they look pretty, sometimes that’s enough.”

“I won’t ever doubt a rose again,” he raised his hands in mock defeat. 

“My mother loved roses so much that my father had that necklace I gave you made for their first wedding anniversary, and himself a matching ring. So no matter what, they could look at them and know where they belonged.”

“That’s beautiful.” 

She looked at him, there was a soft smile on his face, and his eyes shone clear blue in the firelight. He leaned closer and Jemma raised her hands up to traced face, his light beard softer under fingers thought it would be. “Fitz,” she sighed as her lips found his. 

His lips were chapped, but the kiss was tender as she reached up to thread her fingers through his curls, pulling him closer as their mouths moved in sync. She kept her eyes closed when they broke apart and rested her forehead against his, savouring the sensation. He was warm, heat radiating off of him and the smells of the forest lingered on him, dirt, pine, and moss, it was intoxicating. Running her fingers through his curls one last time Jemma stood from the fireside, taking his hand in hers, pulling him up along side her. He followed without question back to the shelter, giving her hand a squeeze along the way. 

“Well,” Fitz cleared his throat as they stopped outside her bunk. “Goodnight, Jemma.” He leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek.

“Where’s your bunk?” she asked not letting go of his hand. 

“Um, well,” he scratched his neck. “Until I make the new expansion to the shelter, you’re in it.”

“Where have you been sleeping?” 

“I have a sleeping roll I set up outside.” Jemma tsked and pushed the curtain aside, tugging him inside with her. “Jemma? What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just to sleep,” she blushed as she climbed onto the pallet. “You need a proper sleep, a real bed, not some thin sack on the cold ground.”

Fitz nodded and sat at the edge of the bed, pulling off his tunic. Jemma couldn't help but stare as he settled himself back on the bed, she knew he had a solid build under his cloak but he was more defined than she thought he would be. She placed her head on his chest and pulled the covers up over them. He was so warm; she couldn't help but burrow in close, her fingers tracing his ribs as his carded gently through her hair. “Good night Fitz,” she sighed and placed a kiss to his collarbone and finally fell into a deep, easy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. If you want to see a manip of Jemma as Lady Marian hit up my tumblr I'm agent-bash over there.


	8. Chapter Seven

Jemma hated herself in the light of day when she had woken up alone and cold. She never should have kissed him, no matter how much she wanted too, and while nothing happened she shouldn't have shared a bed with him. She couldn't keep entertaining those thoughts or she really would be no better than Ophelia. What would Malick do to Fitz? She wondered. It would be public of course, but would he be put to death? Or would he be held in the dungeons the rest of his life, a plaything for Malick and Ward, a warning for the people of Nottingham. The thoughts made her stomach twist

“Jemma,” Daisy’s voice sounded from behind the curtain. “Hurry up, we’re all meeting in commons to go over the tax plan.”

She closed eyes and took a deep breath. It was time get out of bed and get the day started, she needed to pull herself together. 

“Alright,” Fitz rolled out a large piece of parchment on the table as Jemma finally joined them. “This is the lay out of the castle, and the Strong Room is here,” he pointed to a square in the far west corner.

“They aren’t keeping the money in the Strong Room anymore,” she voiced without thinking. “They’re holding it all in one of the spare sleeping quarters, in the east wing over here.” She pointed

“What, why would they not keep the money in a strong room?” Hunter asked mouth full of apple.

“Maybe because Outlaws have broken into the castle before and know where the strong room is?” 

“Oh, right.”

“What else has changed?” Fitz asked.

“The corridor is only patrolled ever quarter of an hour,” she relayed. “As to not draw suspicion. No guard, not even an unarmed page boy, stand outside the door. I don’t know which room it’s in.”

“Ok,” Daisy bit her lip, “How much does that change things?”

“Not,” Bobbi broke in. “We just get in and go east instead of west, and now there are less guards to contend with.”

“And how are we getting in?” Daisy asked. “We know Malick’s increased the battlement guards since our last attempt.”

“The tunnels?” Mack offered. “They’re completely hidden from the battlements, and the area by the entrance is seldom patrolled by the guards in the forest.”

“Tunnels?” Jemma raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What tunnels?” 

“There’s a network of caves that run under the castle,” Fitz explained. “They lead right into the kitchens, and the cellar too.”

“Are you serious?” She sputtered, all the outlaws nodded. “How long have they been there?”

“Well the caves themselves have always existed,” Mack offered. “But as for the entrances into the castle, when the Vikings invaded maybe?” 

“So the tunnels,” Bobbi stated, getting the meeting back on track. “They will be easier to get in and out of unseen.”

“But they make it harder to carry the money, we can’t fit a cart into the caves,” Daisy supplied

“But they’re still less risky than trying to go through the front in disguise,” Fitz. “I say we go with a one, one and four formation,” he proposed, Jemma had no idea what that meant. “One person stays in the tunnels, another one at the entrance, making sure way is clear, while four of us will go up to the room, two in it to load bags, the other two alternate between watching for guards and carrying the full bags down to the waiting pair.”

“It still won’t be easy,” Hunter offered.

“That’s why we practice,” Fitz nodded. “Hand-to-hand combat in 5 minutes, outside.”

Outside is where Jemma stood watching as Fitz tore a bit of parchment into pieces and drop them in a goblet. “I told you once,” he came to a rest in front of her. “That only a fool believes he knows everything.”

“That’s not quite what you said,” Jemma smirked. 

“You get my point.” He glared, but there was no heat behind it. “We fight against one another, it keeps us sharp, it keeps us ready. Hand-to-hand is what’s going to be important if we get caught in the castle, we can’t have our weapons rattling around as we sneak through the castle, it’ll only get us caught.”

“Right,” Jemma nodded in understanding. “And you want me too…”

“We take it in turns, pull two names out of the goblet, that’s our first round. But for your sake, you’ll be with me at the end.”   
“You’ll be fine, Jemma,” Bobbi reassured. “Just watch what we do and take it to heart. Fighting is easy once you get into the groove.”

“Glad you think that Bob, because you’re up first against Mack,” Fitz grinned and set the goblet on the ground. 

There were hoots and hollers as the pair met middle of cleared ground, circling each other at first, waiting for the other make the first move. “Bored!” Daisy goaded and at once the action began. Mack lashed out first; a simple punch that Bobbi swatted away with ease.

“You’re smart Jemma,” Hunter voice surprisingly from beside her. “We don't expect you to be Bobbi first go around, or even the hundredth. But there lots you can learn from her. You know how bodies work, what do you see?”

Jemma watched, as the pair circled each other again, Bobbi aimed kick this time tat Mack threw away, landing her off balance supported on her weaker side. Mack saw his opportunity and swept his leg out, trying to knock her foot. It was a trap she noted,’ as Bobbi twisted in the other direction, and sent her elbow into the back of Mack’s head. She grabbed arm and spun again, creating enough momentum to flip the giant of a man over her shoulder, and send him crashing to the ground. But that wasn't the end of it; locking her arm behind his straight elbow Jemma watched as the blonde applied the slightest bit of pressure causing Mack to yelp, “yield,” and tap at the ground. 

Cheers went up as Bobbi pulled Mack to his feet and the pair walked over to the group. “Hunter, Daisy, you’re up next,” Fitz called, clapping Mack on the back as he passed him.

“These two are scrappy,” Mack’s deep voice rumbled next to her, as Daisy and Hunter readied themselves. “They also usually try and sneak something in, a small blade, a pick, it’s clever and it can give a surprise edge in practical application.”

Jemma watched as once again the fighters started off by circling each other. Quicker than with Bobbi and Mack the punches and kicks started to fly until finally it seemed like Hunter had gained the upper hand. He had Daisy pinned to the ground, when from nowhere he drew out a small hatchet, stopping an inch away from her head. “Yield, Daisy,” he smirked. 

“I wouldn't be so sure of yourself, Lance,” she taunted her eyes flicking down between them where she had a knife pointed right at his groin.

“Draw,” Fitz declare as Hunter help Daisy up off the ground. “Are you ready?” he asked Jemma as he stepped forward into the clearing.

“You got this Jemma,” Daisy assured with a wink as she went by. 

“No one expects you to take him,” Mack nodded. “Do what you can, show us what you saw.”

She stopped in front of Fitz who nodded to her. “Ready when you are Lady Jemma.”

She stepped to the left, he to the right, mirroring her; she had seen that same thing earlier with the others. But it seemed so inefficient, and he was leaving himself wide open. She sprung forward, and aimed punch at his nose. Fitz easily blocked it, sending her off balance tumbling to the dirt with a slight push to her exposed back.

“If you don't have the element of surprise don't be so eager to strike first,” h advised and helped her to her feet. “It’s always better to let your opponent make the first move, let the frustration build until they can’t wait any longer. Again.”

She took a deep breath, centred herself, and they began again. Jemma had a plan this time as they circled each other, she could bait him like she saw Bobbi do with Mack. She left her right side exposed to him, where her leg had been cut open, where she was weaker. It worked, Fitz started forward with a sliding kick to the leg, Jemma was able to spin around him and send a kick of her own into his butt.

“Good Jemma,” Bobbi roared from the side.

It wasn’t enough however; Fitz still stood and was coming at her once more. She ducked his swing, but couldn't land a counter strike

“Getting out of the way is sometime best and only option,” Hunter coached. “You don't always have to hit to win. If you can evade, let them wear themselves out trying to hit you.”

She spun and ducked a few more times until finally she saw an opening, she went for a quick punch, but Fitz had guessed her move. He grabbed her arm spun her around until her back was pressed firmly against front, her arms pinned across her chest as he locked her in a bear hug from behind.

“Come on Jemma,” he urged in her ear. “Think, what can you do from here? You probably know more options than I do.”

It came to her like a bolt of lightning. She lifted foot and drove heel top of his boot. She felt him cringe but he didn't break his hold, thinking quick she brought her head back right into his nose. He released her as he staggered backward and cheers from outlaws.

“Yield,” Fitz said, as she turned to face him, ready for more. He was holding nose, blood leaking through fingers. 

Jemma rushed forward, to help stem the flow. “I am so sorry, I didn’t…”

“No,” he waved her off, with a smile. “That was fantastic Jemma, good job. Let’s go again. Daisy, Mack, your up.”

“You really should let me take a look at that,” she intoned as they reached the side. “To make sure it isn’t broken.” She pulled his hands away from face there was blood everywhere. She cringed, is this what he would look like after Malick got hold of him?

“Is it that bad?” his voice broke through her thoughts.

She shook the image off, and reached for her satchel pulling out a bandage to wipe the blood away. “No, I just don't like seeing you like this.”

He smiled and wrapped his hand gently around the back of her neck, pulling her forward and placing a kiss to her forehead. “You did good. A great job. You should be proud.”

She smiled back him and tucked herself into his side as they turned to watch Mack and Daisy tangle. She was proud, everything she had done since joining the outlaws, everything she had learned about them, about herself, she missed this feeling. For so long she had resigned herself to a future spent as a trophy, whose only value would be in children, in the sons she bore her husband. Here she found purpose again, friends, people she cared for. She couldn't do this, she couldn't turn them in, there had to be another way, she just needed to find it.

“Jemma,” Daisy called. “Come on lets see how you fair against Bobbi this time.”

Jemma smiled, pushing the dark thoughts away for now and joined blonde in the circle. She would find a way.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look an update! Sorry for the delay in posting, IRL has been hectic the last month and editing had to take a backseat. A warning for who is not fond of reading smut, please note the rating change. It does get a little smutty about halfway through. I'm not sure it warrants the change in rating but I did just to be cautious (also for events that are going to happen in an upcoming chapter). Hope you guys enjoy!

At the fire that night Hunter played lute while Daisy sang. It was nearly perfect, the gang gathered round, laughing and frolicking. Only Fitz wasn’t with them, he had left earlier to do some fishing.

“So we can eat something other than squirrel,” he called over his shoulder as he readied his gear.

“It wasn't squirrel!” Hunter dropped his lute in indignation. 

“Whatever you say Hunter,” Fitz dismissed as he strolled into forest and out of sight.

“How often do they argue about squirrels?” Jemma asked Mack as they ate their meal.

“A couple times a month.”

“It all came about one day when we were first starting out. Food was scarce, and Hunter said that squirrel wasn’t that bad. Then he said that we would never be able to tell the difference between it and chicken if he fed it to us on the nights he cooked,” Bobbi rolled her eyes as she sat beside Jemma and swung an arm around her as they listened to the music.

The merriment had lasted for hours; well after the fire had burned down into coals but Fitz hadn’t come back. “Don't worry,” Daisy told her as they headed back into the shelter. “Fishing takes time, he’ll be back when he has a good haul.” 

She followed the others inside but she couldn’t fall asleep. She got out of bed and went into the commons. Fitz still wasn't back yet, but that didn't mean she couldn't get things ready for him. Taking a grate from the wall of hanging tools she went outside and brought the fire back to life, waiting for it to burn back down into coals for smoking. Heading back inside she struggled to move the cask of salt brine, but soon enough there was nothing for her to do but sit at the table and wait. 

She pulled out her mother’s journal and a stack of fresh parchment. She wanted to transpose the information for Bobbi, so she and the gang could always have it on hand as Jemma did. “Rather late, isn’t it?” A voice came from behind her, causing Jemma to jump.

“Fitz,” she scolded as he sat beside her.

“Hi,” he smiled and took an already prepared fish off the line. 

“Good haul?” 

“Not bad,” he handed her a fish to place in salt bath. “I see you got the smoker ready.”

“I wasn't able to sleep, figured I’d help out.”

“Thank you,” he smiled softly. “Jemma, there’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“Well you see…I was thinking, I mean,” he stammered and ran a hand through his hair. “After we steal the tax money, I was wondering if…well hoping, I guess, that um…that maybe you would like to stay.”

“You want me to stay? Here, in the forest?” With you, she added silently. 

“Yeah,” Fitz nodded, biting his lip.

“Fitz, I…” Jemma trailed off.

“I know, I don't have much to offer you,” he began. “A life in the forest, a life as an outlaw, it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing,” she shook her head and reached for his hand. 

“Jemma Simmons, you make me feel things that I’ve avoided feeling for years. Things I’m not sure I’ve ever actually felt before.” He brought her hand up to his lips, “I swear I’ll do everything can make you happy here, with me. I’ll –”

Jemma surged up and locked her lips with his, cutting off whatever promises he was going to make. She didn't need them, she didn't want them, the promise of him was enough. She twisted her fingers through his hair as they struggled to their feet, never separating more than they had too. They stumbled through shelter, lips colliding, hands roaming clumsily as they made their way back to the bunks.

They all but fell through curtains as Jemma backed Fitz up against wall, her lips trailing down his neck. Soon enough the line of his tunic blocked her progress, and Jemma pulled it down roughly, latching her lips on his collarbone. Fitz tilted his head back against the wall, and Jemma felt his groan rather than heard it. She couldn't hold back her grin, dizzy with the knowledge that it was her causing him to make those wonderful noises; she nipped at the long line of bone again. 

Fitz couldn't take it anymore, the sweet torture she was inflicting upon him. He pushed her away from him and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing the garment to the ground. Jemma licked her lips as she took in the sight, he was pasty to be sure, but he really was a fine example of the human form, better than any of the drawings in the books of medicine her father had procured for her and her mother over the years. Fitz stood right in front of her and circled his arms around her waist pulling her back in, Jemma couldn't resist trailing her hands slowly up his now exposed chest, revelling in his soft feel of his skin. 

“Fitz,” she murmured against his lips as she pulled him back down, brushing her thumb along his scruffy cheek.

“Is this okay?” His voice was rough but quiet as he placed his forehead against hers.

Jemma nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered, not wanting to speak louder and risk breaking the spell that had been cast over them. She reached for his hands where they rested on her waist and brought fingers to the hem of her tunic.

That was all the confirmation he needed as he tugged the fabric over her head and let it flutter to floor along side his own. Fitz stared at the ivory skin that had been revealed to him, he was stunned, frozen in place as he took in the sight of her. Jemma grabbed his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing her frigid fingers around his. He traced his thumb over her dark rosy nipple, and felt it tighten as he brushed back and forth. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Jemma surged up on her tiptoes and kissed him, hard and fast. Her fingers trailed down to where his skin met the line of his trousers, tangling with the laces. Fitz hands tightened around her as she nipped at his bottom lip, soothing the sting with her tongue right after. It made his heart race as the adrenaline rushed through his body. He pushed them away from the wall and the tripped their way to the bed, lips never leaving one another’s, as his fingers too fumbled with the fastenings of Jemma’s breeches. They fell backwards onto the bed; Jemma crawled up towards the pillows, pulling Fitz along with her as they kicked their remaining clothes down their legs. They settled themselves, Jemma on her back, Fitz resting between her thighs.

“You’re sure, Jemma?” Fitz choked on his own breath as Jemma’s wrapped her fingers around his erection in response; she guided him to her entrance and tilted her hips up slowly taking him inside. A tingling pleasure coursed through his body at the feeling of her surrounding him, and unable to stop himself, he pushed further until he was completely hilted inside her. He released an unsteady groan of pleasure and pulled back slowly ready to thrust in again when a sharp intake of breath from beneath him broke through the haze of desire. He looked down at Jemma, her hair fanned out over the pillow, her head turned to the side, and her eyes screwed shut in pain. He stilled at once. 

“Jemma?” he reached up and smoothed his hand over her hair. “Look at me.”

She turned her head and opened her eyes, her lip still clamped between teeth, holding back her pained noises.

“Jemma, I’m sorry,” he chided himself. Here he was acting like an ogre, savouring his own pleasure while she was in pain. He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “It’s alright, we can stop. Just let me—” 

“No!” Jemma clamped hands over his arse, pulling him back to her sharply. She was unable to hold back her hiss pain this time.

“I’m hurting you,” Fitz protested but Jemma only tightened her hold.

“Just give me a minute,” she pleaded, relaxing her grip. “Let me adjust to you before you move.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, his hesitation evident.

Jemma nodded and pulled on his neck bringing his lips to hers. She let herself get lost in the feeling of his kiss, distracting her from the pinching pain below.

Fitz stayed as still as he could. His muscles protested, screaming at him to move, but he resisted. He traced kisses down her neck, occasional nipping at the soft skin and relishing in her keening noises. Then Jemma rolled her hips and he sunk further into her heat. It hadn’t been like this the last time, he was sure of it. His body didn't tingle all over; his skin didn't have that pleasant burn that it did as Jemma traced her fingers over his back. He buried his face in her neck, scattering kisses all over the curve of her shoulder in an attempt to muffle his sounds. The last thing he wanted was to turn this into a show for the rest like Hunter and Bobbi. This was for them, only them; they were the only two people in the world. 

“You can, move Fitz,” she whispered pulling his hair and forcing him to face her. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah?” he stroked piece of hair out of her face, her eyes were blown wider than he’d ever seen them.

Jemma nodded and pushed herself up for another kiss. Fitz nodded and moved his hips away, he savoured the whimper Jemma let out, one of pleasure this time instead of pain. He pushed back in, slowly, measured, not wanting to rush her, but also make this last as long as he could.

Jemma raised her hips to meet Fitz’s thrusts; the slide was much easier. Her muscles still clenched around him but to pull him in deeper rather than keep him out. It was thrilling, the feel of him inside her, their bodies moving in tandem, fitting together like they were made to be this way, made to go together. She shifted her hips, trying to find a different angle as Fitz braced her legs against the side of his torso, anchoring her to him. Her eyes snapped open as he passed over a spot inside her that sent a strike of lighting through her body. 

“Fitz, yes,” she moaned, as he thrust into her harder and quicker. Ever a marksman he struck that same place again and again, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades as more moans and gasps escaped her throat. 

Fitz leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in an attempt to ground himself. He felt like he was floating away, getting lost in a sea of Jemma. The way she smelt, the tendrils of her hair spread out over the pillow, how she met his every thrust with ease, and the slick warm tightness of her around him. It was nearly enough to send him over the edge so he bit the inside of his cheek, holding back wanting her to go over the edge with him.

Jemma could feel him faltering, the snaps of his hips losing their rhythm. She slid one hand down from his shoulder to cup his bottom once more, feeling the muscles flexing under her palm. “Faster,” she moaned her voice so rough with desire it sounded foreign to her own ears. As he gave a few final hard, wild thrusts, she felt the muscles her walls contracted holding him within her as his release filled her. 

Fitz muffled his shout against Jemma’s neck as his orgasm ripped through him. After what felt like hours adrift he returned to himself, his forehead pressed against Jemma’s chest as he rested his weight against her. He shifted to the side to fall along side her, Jemma followed twisting so they were chest to chest, and rested her forehead against his. “Are you alright?” His smoothed his thumb across the dip in her spine. “It didn't hurt too much did it?”

“I’m fine,” Jemma reassured and gave him a gentle kiss, tangling her fingers in his hair once more. “Get some sleep Fitz, we’ve both earned it.”

Fitz nodded as Jemma resettled herself against him. With Jemma’s weight solid and warm against him and her fingers scratching against his scalp he dropped off in no time at all. 

Jemma watched as Fitz’s eye closed and his breathing deepened, she was jealous; sleep was not going to come so easily to her. She bit her lip to hold back the scream of frustration that threatened to break free. She shouldn't have done that. Why had she done it? She knew of course; she wanted Fitz, she desired him, and so ignoring what she knew was right, she took what she wanted. Just like Ophelia. This settled it; it was foolish, it was selfish, but she just couldn’t do it. She was going to tell Fitz the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, enjoy.

Jemma woke up before Fitz next morning. She watched him sleep for a while, savouring the soft smile on his lips. Knowing she was soon going to do something that would likely cause her to never see that smile again, Jemma grew restless. She got out of bed as gently as she could, she donned her small clothes and started to pace. She had no idea how long she’d been stomping a trail at the front of the bed, going over and over in her mind how best to tell him, when a gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Hey,” she looked up and took in Fitz’s bleary eyes and sleep warmed cheeks, it was the best sight in the world. “Come back to bed, it’s early yet.”

“I can’t,” her feet were rooted where she stood.

“Jemma,” he sat up with a groan, and scooted to the end of the bed. He reached out and caught her waist, pulling her to stand between his legs. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t…” she stammered. “I don’t know…”

“Do you regret it,” his hands fell from her as he looked down to the ground. “Last night?”

“Of course not,” she rested her forehead against his and carded her fingers through his curls. “It meant everything.”

“So you’ll stay?” Fitz looked back up, eyes bright; Jemma felt her heartbreak just a little bit more. “It’ll be wonderful Jemma, I promise. I’ll teach you archery.”

“Fitz,” she tried stop him before he spiralled out too far.

“And Bobbi can teach you hand-to-hand. You seem to work best with her for that.”

“Fitz.”

“And maybe, when King Richard gets back we can –”

“It’s a trap!” she cried, the dam finally broke under the strain of her secret and his promises. “The tax money, the plan, it’s all a set up,” she shook her head. “Malick and his men will be waiting to arrest all of you.”

“That’s not funny, Jemma,” he pulled away.

“I wish I was joking, I really do.” She told him everything, how Elena had freed her that first night, Malick’s message, how he wanted her to lead them to the castle, how he wanted to make an example of Fitz to ward off any other outlaws who might try and emulate him. The pieces of her heart fell to her stomach as she watched Fitz’s eyes grow darker and darker with anger.

“Get out,” he croaked when she finished.

“Fitz, I am so-” Jemma began to apologise, but he wasn't hearing it.

“Get out of here.”

“Please, I was trying to-” 

“LEAVE!” Fitz thundered and stood from the bed looming over her.

Jemma struggled out of bunk, the sheet that had fallen when Fitz stood tangled up in her legs she landed in a heap outside the curtain. There was a rustling as others came out of their bunks, shocked clear on their faces as they took in the sight of her on the floor a sheet the only thing covering her and Fitz standing over her, his face red with rage.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Daisy glared. “It’s barely dawn!”

“She’s a traitor,” Fitz hissed. “It was all a con to hand us over to Malick and Ward!”

“I knew it!” Hunter slapped his hand against his thigh in triumph. “I told you, didn’t I say.”

Mack stepped forward, his hands raised he spoke calmly. “Her clothes Fitz, give her, her clothes.”

Fitz reached into the bunk and tossed them out at her. “Get out,” he hissed again as Jemma scrambled to get dressed.

“Everyone has a story Fitz,” Bobbi reasoned as she reached past him and pulled out his own clothes. “We should hear her out.” 

“Why?” he barked as he snatched the trousers from her hands.

“Because turning us in, that’s not who Jemma is. That’s not the Jemma we’ve come to know.”

“Yeah because she’s a liar,” Hunter jeered. 

“Talk,” Daisy glared at Jemma as Fitz pulled on his own clothes. “And it had better be good.”

She took a deep breath; it was time to come clean. “Everything I told you about Knighton is true; it's not been the same since fire. My people are killing themselves trying to pay all the taxes and make ends meet, but it’s not enough. It’s why I agreed to marry Ward. Malick and my father made a deal, my hand in marriage for a stay in taxation and funds to rebuild. But when Malick found out you had me, he changed the terms. I was to bring you in or he would raise Knighton to the ground. Cut his losses and establish a garrison or something. It’s my home, my people, I have to protect them, but I –”

“Enough,” Fitz cut her off and with a jerk of his head the gang follow him outside. “Well what do you all think?” he asked the second they were out of Jemma’s hearing.

“I believe her,” Bobbi stated quickly.

“She has nothing to gain coming forward,” Mack nodded. “I believe her too.”

“Make that three,” Daisy raised her hand.

“Are you all insane?” Hunter argued. “She was going to betray us! Give us to Malick to be strung up in the gallows. And that’s if we were lucky! Fitz, come on?”

“Tie her up,” Fitz pulled at his hair. “I need time to think.”

 

*

 

Jemma was back where she started, tied to tree trunk, waiting for the outlaws to decide her fate. Only this time it was going to cost her so much more than a simple engagement ring. When she was first betrothed to Grant she felt nothing. That wasn't entirely true she supposed; she was horrified, Grant Ward’s reputation for anger and violence preceded him, but she had hoped that maybe as his wife she would be spared from his rages. Then came resignation, it was the best option for Knighton, and she would do anything for her people. It was something she discussed at length with her father. They spent weeks looking for other options, looking back on it Jemma wasn't sure she ever told him how much she appreciated it, not all father’s were so considerate of their daughter’s future happiness. After all, what good was a daughter in a noble family except to bolster political alliances? Jemma sighed and looked over to where Fitz and the rest were gathered, talking over one another as they discussed her fate. 

“Everyone just shut it!” Daisy shouted over the din.

“Bobbi, what your take?” Fitz asked. “You're the best at reading people.”

“I already told you I believe her,” the blonde shrugged. “She isn’t a good liar, it’s not in her nature, that means something.”

“How can you say that?” Hunter objected. “Look at what she was going to do.”

“Look at her story. There are plenty of truths to what she’s told us,” Bobbi defended. “Fitz, you and Mack were the first to confirm the tax money’s existence, something you doubted Hunter. Knighton’s devastation, we know that happened. All these bits of truth, they make a lie harder to spot, and easier to tell if you aren’t good at deception. She has nothing to gain in warning us about the set up and everything to lose; but she told us because protecting people that is in her nature, especially when she cares for them,” she looked knowingly at Fitz. “Women like Jemma then need good reasons to betray people, they need a good reason to lead them into traps, protecting her home, her people, that’s a good reason.”

“Do you really think that Malick would wipe out an entire village?” Hunter jibed sceptically.

“I think he’d set the homes a blaze himself while the villagers slept.” Bobbi scoffed. 

“None this answers real question,” Mack broke in. “What do we do with her?”

“I say we get rid of her, slit her throat, drop her in the river and wash our hands of it all,” Hunter spat.

“We don't kill,” Mack stated firmly.

“We don't kill unless it’s necessary,” Hunter gestured to Jemma. “Turncoats knows our whereabouts and want to turn us in, I’d call that necessary.”

“I agree with Mack,” Daisy broke in. “But Hunter makes a point, we can’t just let her go she could lead Malick and Ward here in an instant.”

Bobbi shook head. “I don't think she will.”

“How can you just have faith in her like that?” Hunter questioned and turned Fitz, fury burning in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say anything? You’re the one who let himself get fooled again, you should have some opinion.”

“What did you say?” Fitz glared.

“You heard me,” Hunter sneered. “This is Ophelia all over again. You were duped, and we nearly paid the price it. It would have been more just Bobbi’s knee this time; it would have been our lives! All because you can’t seem to think with your big brain when a pretty woman is around.”

“That’s real rich coming from you. You and Bobbi fight all the time. Part of the reason that guard got the drop on her is because you two were arguing with each other instead of paying attention! How many other missions have nearly been blown or gon awry because you two can’t get along unless you’re going at it like rabbits? But God forbid anyone else falls in love!”

Hunter step closer and poked his finger into Fitz’s chest. “At least the woman I love isn’t out to kill us all!” 

Fitz shoved Hunter’s finger down. “Touch me again, find out what happens.” 

“Oh gladly,” the other man lurched forward.

“Hey!” Mack pulled Hunter back before he could attack while Bobbi and Daisy held onto Fitz. “Listen.”

Fitz breath was ragged; all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his ear. He closed his eyes in an effort to calm himself, and that’s when he heard, it a rustling in the bushes nearby.

“Malick’s men,” Hunter grabbed his knife from his belt and started on Jemma. “She’s led them here already.” 

Fitz tackled the other man to the ground, pinning him while Bobbi kicked the knife away. Out of brush tall brunette woman emerged, eyes locked on the scene.

“Elena?” Jemma locked eyes with her friend. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing tied back up?” She looked from Jemma to where Fitz and Hunter were slowly getting up from the dirt. “Did you tell them?”

“I had to,” she bit her lip. “Elena why have you come back?”

She swallowed thickly and stepped forward. “The Sheriff thinks you’re taking too long, he sent this.” She passed a box and note to Fitz. 

Fitz tore open the note and read, he lifted the lid of the box and peered inside only to slam it shut a moment later. “Untie her,” he nodded at Bobbi.

“What?” Hunter sputtered.

“Just do it!” 

Jemma rushed to Fitz the moment she was free and read the note he held out to her. ‘A little motivation for you, my dear.’ She raised her eyebrows in confusion as Fitz opened the box; inside sat a hand, a familiar ring resting on the fourth finger.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

Jemma pushed past Fitz, her mind racing. Her father was in danger, there was blood, there was a hand and Malick had…and Ward…

“Jemma,” a voice echoed from a distance. “Jemma, Jemma stop!” A hand wrapped around her arm and tugged her back

Jemma snapped out of her daze and looked around. She was halfway across the camp, Mack’s axe held tight in her hands.

“My father,” she dropped the blade to the ground. “He’s, Malick he, he…”

“Hey, hey,” Fitz grabbed her face. “Look at me, it’s okay, I have a plan.”

“No you don't,” she gripped his wrist and pushed his hands away. 

“A half a plan then,” he corrected. “So take a breath, and help me figure out the rest.”

Jemma followed his instructions and took few deep breaths. Her mind clearer she let Fitz lead her back to the centre of the camp where the outlaws and Elena waited.

“Well it’s obvious why Malick took Jemma’s father,” Bobbi started.

“Phil,” Jemma cut in. “His name is Phil.”

“Phil,” she repeated. “As a way to keep her in line. This all tracks with what Jemma was telling us. Malick knows that this, giving us up, not something she’ll do unless pressed.”

Hunter scoffed while the rest of the outlaws nodded in agreement. “So how do we get him back?” Mack put to the circle.

“The real question,” Hunter countered. “Is why should we?”

“Because Jemma didn't have a choice,” Daisy gestured to the box in her arms. “This proves it.”

“Or it’s all an elaborate con, we’ve no proof that her father’s hand, it could be from a corpse, that could be pigs blood.”

“It’s not,” Jemma broke in. “I swear it.” Hunter sneered at her. “Then tell me,” she snapped at the man. “Why would I have some clean? You were all on board, ready to storm the castle; I could have just let you go through with the plan and sat back as the guards took you in.” 

Elena gasped. “You told them about the money?”

“It was working,” she ignored her friend. “I had no reason to confess, but I did.”

“You can get in line or you can go Hunter,” Fitz spoke. “I’ve never once asked any of you to do something you don't believe in, and I won’t start now. I won’t be like the Sheriff, forcing your hand, threatening you into compliance by hurting the ones you love. You all have the choice, so make one.” 

Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, but stayed put. Fitz nodded at his friend, and looked around each one of them. “I say we give Malick exactly what he wants.”

“What!” The cry chorused from all around.

“Fitz, you can’t,” Jemma protested, her eyes pleading.

“Oh yes I can,” he smirked.

“Who’s getting caught with you?” Mack asked.

“No one else, just me.”

“No!” They all chorused again, talking over each other in protest

Fitz raised hand for quiet. “It’s me that Malick wants, not all of you.” More protests sprang up but Fitz remained steadfast. “I value your opinions, but this not a democracy. I’m getting caught alone, end of discussion.”

Silence fell over the group until Bobbi let out a resigned sigh. “So, we send you in, make it seem like Jemma has done exactly as Malick asked, and it gives him no reason to hurt Phil or go after Knighton.”

“Ok but then what?” Daisy asked. “Will Fitz go to the dungeons? Or will he be executed right away? This is too big a risk.”

“The dungeons,” Jemma confirmed. “Malick and Ward want a show, a spectacle, to be used as public deterrent. It does him no good kill Fitz on sight.”

“There are still too many variables,” Mack put in. “Too much we can’t account for, especially if we’re all stuck back here in camp.”

“You wont be in camp,” Fitz started. “I said that I wouldn’t let any of you get captured with me. But you will be on the inside; you’ll help get me out.”

“How?” Hunter finally broke his silence.

“I can get you guard uniforms,” Elena pipes up. “The helmets cover most of the face, that should keep you hidden enough to go unrecognized. Besides new guards are brought in all the time, Malick never bothers to learn their names, and the sight of new people won’t make the real guards bat an eye.”

“Perfect,” Fitz nodded and Jemma shot friend a smile. “Hunter and Daisy, you two will go in, wait until nightfall to get me out, darkness will only help us.”

“And Bobbi and me?” Mack asked.

“You’ll be waiting in the tunnels.” 

“What are they doing in the tunnels?” Daisy questioned.

“We have get that tax money out unseen somehow,” Fitz smirked and watched the grins grow on his gang’s faces. “We’ll go to Loxley, borrow some horses from the stables. You keep them tied to a cart and waiting entrance on the south face of the cliff. Soon enough we’ll be riding off, and the people shire will get a little wealthier.”

“There are still no guarantees,” Hunter sounded. “There a lot that can go wrong.”

“A lot can always go wrong,” Fitz acknowledged. “But you have to take the risk to realize what's worth the risk.” 

Jemma listened closely as they continued to plot, and if went all according plan they would save Jemma’s father, they would save Knighton, and she would be out of their lives forever.

*

Night fell quickly as they finalized the plan and Elena left to return to the castle; she would bring the guard uniforms at dawn. Jemma waited until she was certain the outlaws were all asleep and silently made her way through camp. Out of the dark an arrow whizzed past her head and lodged itself in the trunk of a giant oak. She didn't need to turn around to know who the shooter was. 

“Out for a midnight stroll?” His Scottish lit sounded merrily.

Jemma yanked the arrow from the tree and passed it back to Fitz. “That was unnecessary.”

“Got you attention though, didn’t it,” he put the arrow back in his quiver. “What are you doing Jemma? We have a plan.”

“I need to do this myself,” she argued. “This is my fault! It’s my lands, my people, my father! They are my responsibility; none of you need be involved. You’re all too valuable to shire. You do so much good. This risk you don't need to take.”

“You put Knighton and your father in more danger by trying do this yourself.” 

“Look,” Jemma took a deep breath. “I can walk back into the castle, you all leave camp, find new hideout, I’ll lead the guards here, they find it deserted and I say you must have figured out my scheme.”

“And then what?” Fitz shrugged. “You really think that’ll be the end of it?”

“I have these,” she pulled a handful of shoots and bulbs from her satchel. “Snow drops; they look, taste and smell exactly like spring onions, only these are highly toxic.”

“Jemma,” he shook head.

“I’m not sure what's going happen after, if I’ll be found out, If we’ll ever…” she trailed off, it was too painful, besides there was no hope for that now. “I need you to know something.”

“Jemma,” Fitz tried to cut across.

“It was all real. All of it,” she swallowed. “How I feel about you, what we did, that wasn't a part of the plan. I never expected to… I know you can’t believe me, but just know it was real. I’m…I’m not Ophelia.”

Fitz’s head snapped up. “How do you know about Ophelia?”

“Mack told me.”

“And you still-”

“No,” she cut him off. “It’s why I told you. And it’s why I can’t let you, any of you, do this. I’m not her, I refuse to let the man I love risk his life for my desires, and worse for my mistakes.”

Fitz looked stunned. “I don’t…I’m not…”

“It’s okay,” she gave him sad smile. “I know you don't believe me, I don't expect you to. Let me show you, let me do this myself.”

“I'm sorry Jemma,” he bit his lip.

Jemma was confused, he had nothing to apologize for. She knew he didn’t feel the same way, not anymore, not after what she’d done. She was about to reassure him when a strong hand clamped over mouth and nose, pushing a sopping rag into her face. She struggled against the hold, the smell of the rag was familiar. She felt her eyes grew heavy and it grew more and more difficult to stay awake as she breathed in the scent, until finally she surrendered to the pull of the dark and collapsed backward against a solid body.

“Told you she’d try and scarper,” Hunter dropped cloth and staggered slightly under Jemma’s unconscious weight.

“Yeah, but not for reasons you said,” Fitz scooped Jemma up in his arms and carried her back to shelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Everyone survive Friday? Or have you all composted due to happiness? Hopefully not, because here's a new chapter for you! There is some violence in the chapter near the end, so keep that in mind if you're sensitive to that. Enjoy!

Jemma’s was confused when she woke up in Fitz’s bunk the next morning; for the life of her she couldn’t remember how she got back to the shelter. She remembered heading into the woods, then Fitz stopping her, and then…the rag! The rag over her mouth, the smell, it was a mix of opium and hemlock she used in surgeries to knock out patients. It was also one of the thing she had shown Bobbi how to concoct only a few short days ago.

“Oh good,” Daisy poked her head into the bunk. “You’re awake. Get dressed, we need to get a move on.”

She struggled to rise from the bed. She never realized how difficult it was to shake off the heaviness that lingered in ones limbs after getting a doze of the opium tonic. Quick as her sluggish limbs allowed she got dressed, but something itched against her neck as her shirt settled over her torso. She reached up to scratch the irritating spot and felt the thing metal chain of her necklace; the weight felt foreign to her now. Stealing her breath, Jemma joined the others out outside the shelter; Hunter and Daisy were already in their stolen guard uniforms as the rest circled round them.

“Are you ready for this?” Bobbi asked as she joined them.

Jemma nodded, not able to meet anyone’s eye. She wished her escape plan had worked.

Hunter cleared his throat. “So once we’re closer to the castle me and Daisy cause a commotion in forest, raise the alarms and all that. After a bit of a chase, you know make it look believable, we’ll grab you and Fitz, and take you into lion’s den.”

“Right,” Fitz nodded. “Daisy be sure not say a word, don’t even make a sound.”

“It should be Mack going in with me,” Hunter protested.

“Mack stands head and shoulders above most men and is built like a battering ram,” Fitz explained. “He’s too easily recognized; Daisy will be fine so long as she keeps her mouth shut.”

“Easy enough,” she smirked before donning the helmet. “Seeing as I’m not Hunter.”

The outlaws’ laughter echoed around while Hunter fumed and Jemma watched. It felt like a punch to the stomach, she had no right to partake in the merriment and light jeering, not anymore. They made way through forest faster Jemma thought they would, and all too soon Mack and Bobbi branched off for the tunnels. 

“Good luck,” Bobbi whispered her ear squeezed shoulder as she passed.

“Ready?” Fitz asked as he tightened his quiver over his back. 

Jemma nodded, unable to find her voice. 

“It’ll all be over soon. You’ll be back with your father in no time,” he assured, his smile tight. He looked over to Daisy and Hunter. “Let’s go.” Then he grabbed Jemma’s hand and took off at a run.

They crashed through woods; Jemma could hear her heart pounding in her ears. A horn sounded through air, two trumpeting blasts, a signalled to the castle guards that outlaws had been spotted. It didn't take long for Hunter and Daisy to catch them both in a firm grip. She watched as Fitz struggled against Hunter’s hold, playing his part.

“You’ll have to move camp immediately after you get out,” she whispered to him. “Malick will expect me to lead his forces there. I’ll delay as long as I can of course, but I can’t guarantee how long you'll have.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” _for everything_ she added in her head. “I can’t imagine how long it took to build that shelter.”

“I’ve built it once, I can build it again elsewhere.” 

“Please Fitz, you have to make it out. Don't rile up the guards, don't make a scene, keep your head down and wait until nightfall.”

“I know, Jemma.”

“And Fitz?”

“What?”

“Thank you, for everything. I can’t explain what…” She trailed off biting her lip. 

Fitz turned to look at her. That was not at all what he’d expected her to say. A solid whack across back head pitched him forward and he craned to glare at Hunter. 

“Eyes forward,” the other man grumbled gruffly as they made their way through the gatehouse and into the courtyard of Nottingham Castle.

“Watch it,” he warned his friend under his breath.

“I need make look believable,” Hunter argued as he shoved Fitz’s head again.

As they marched under barbican Fitz could see the guards pause in their rotations on the battlements to catch sight of them. On the steps of the keep Sheriff Malick stood proudly, flanked by his nephew, a few of the local lords and his guards, a smug smile on his face. “Well, well, Leopold Fitz, it’s wonderful see you again.”

Fitz pulled forward against Hunter’s grip, only to be knocked to the ground as an actual guard took his club to his knees.

“Lady Jemma, welcome back,” Malick gave her a cold smile. “Though I will say, I expected you far sooner than this.”

“My father?” Jemma demanded as Daisy let go of her arm.

“Jemma,” a man with dark greying hair, stepped forward from the crowd.

“Father!” Jemma rushed up steps into his open arms, it felt so good to be back in them. She pulled away to look him over, her eyes immediately going to his hands. She had hoped against hope that Hunter had been right, that Malick’s threat had been faked, but sure enough a wrapped stump stood where his hand once was. “Father, I am so sorry.”

Phil raised his remaining hand to his daughter’s cheek. “You’re back now, that’s all that matters.”

“You will be compensated for this, I’ll make sure of it,” Jemma promised as she tucked herself back into her father’s embrace.

“You see, Leopold,” Malick’s voice interrupted their reunion. “I had Lady Jemma do a little favour for me. It took some,” he looked back at the reunited pair. “Persuasion, but she pulled it off in the end.”

Fitz glared at Jemma and spat. “Double-crossing bitch.”

Jemma swallowed, it was all part of plan of course, but the coldness in his blue eyes cut deep.

“I have plans for you, my boy, big, big plans,” Malick smiled down at his captive. “It will take a few days more to set everything in motion but rest assured you won’t be ignored while you wait. Grant,” he nodded to nephew.

The tall, raven-haired man stepped forward as Fitz struggled up to his feet. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” Ward smirked and swung his fist into Fitz’s temple, sending the Scot toppling to the ground. Daisy and Hunter both stepped forwards, but Ward barked at them to stay back as he brought Fitz up to his knees pulling him by his hair. He punched the outlaw across the face again and again, his grip the only thing keeping Fitz from collapsing backward.

Jemma hid her face in her father’s shoulder, unable look at the beating. Shielding her eyes however did nothing to block out the resounding thumps of fist to face that rang through the courtyard. As her father ran his fingers through her hair Jemma finally let the tears she’d been holding back fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning! Warning!** This chapter has depictions of beatings and reference torture and rape. If you're uncomfortable with that skip to the end notes and I'll summarize. Enjoy and remember being mindful of your triggers is more important than a reading a story. Also you can check out the end notes for some historical notes

Fitz came to groggily, everything was blurry and it was hard to keep his eyes open. He had no idea where he was, the last thing he remembered was being in the courtyard, but he knew he wasn't outside anymore. There was a musty smell to the air, and a dampness that linger, but he couldn't place where exactly he was. 

“There he is,” a voice echoed around dank room.

Fitz took a deep breath to clear cobwebs in his mind. Facts, he needed facts. He looked around, forcing his eyes to focus. Fact one: he was in a large stone room, that explained the smell, but it wasn't a cell. Fact two: he was hanging, sort of; his wrists were chained above his head and he was hanging in such a way so that only the balls of his feet were in contact with ground. Fact three: he’d been beaten, he remembered that much and could feel the tightness of forming bruises on his face, and taste the lingering coppery tang of blood in his mouth.

“Hey now,” the voice, clearer than before, sounded again. “Don’t drop off on me again, there so much more fun we can have.”

Fact four: that voice was familiar to him. “Is that what we’ve been doing Ward?” he spat the remanence of blood to the stone floor. “Having fun?”

“Well, I am,” Grant Ward shrugged as he leaned against the near-by wall. “But I think I’m ready for a different game now; do you like games Fitz?”

“Depends on the game,” he answered nonchalantly. “And who I’m playing with. It really is the company that matters.”

“I don't disagree,” he stepped closer to Fitz, standing right in front of him. “We’re going to play a little game of my own creation, it's called ‘future’. I’m going to tell you what the future has in store, for you, for me, and we’ll see what happens.”

“No thanks,” Fitz wrinkled nose. “Sounds stupid.”

_Whomp_. Ward sent his fist into Fitz ribs.

“Guests first, I am a gentleman after all,” he smirked. “In three days time, you’ll be taken to the courtyard. You’ll be whipped. Then it’s rack, stretched until your joints dislocate and spine pops from top to bottom. Then come rats, who will eat open you stomach as they try and escape the coals above them. If you survive all that then the executioner will take over, he'll remove what's left of your innards one by one before it’s off with your head; I do wonder how long you’ll last. I’ve even made a few wagers with a few of the nobles.”

The whole time he spoke Ward never dropped his eyes from Fitz’s, trying see something in them but not finding it. “You can do all that now,” Fitz glared. “What are you waiting for?”

“You are meant be an example of course,” Ward chortled. “It’s an event Fitz! We’re simply waiting for all our guests to arrive.”

“Oh yeah,” Fitz sounded, faking impressed. “Who all coming this grand ‘event’?”

“The Sheriffs of other shires, Lords and Ladies of Nottingham, My Uncle has even reached out to King John –” 

“Prince John,” Fitz corrected, smiling at Ward’s glare. “You mean. Or does he prefer Lackland? I’ve always wondered. I know King Richard certainly likes to play up the whole ‘Lion-heart’ thi–” he was cut off by a sharp jab to the stomach.

“Now for my future,” Ward hissed as he delivered another blow to Fitz’s ribs. “I will be Sheriff,” _whack_. 

“I will have influence,” _thump_. 

“Money,” _wham_. 

“Power,” _whomp_. 

“Enough power to burn your precious Loxley to the ground.” _Crack_ , Fitz felt his ribs give way final blow. “What else does my future hold?” Ward stepped back, panting, he shook out his hand while Fitz too struggled to catch his breath. “Jemma; my future holds that Knighton bitch.”

Fitz raised head weakly as Ward continued. “I’ll let you in on a little secret; the marriage was all my Uncle’s idea. I would have happy let Knighton parish and build new garrison in it’s ashes, but he sees a greater purpose for it I suppose. I truly believed her to be just another boring noble maiden. Decent looking to be sure, but with no brains or skill of note. But all this has certainly changed the way I view her. I find myself curious about her. Tell me Fitz, do you think she she’s a screamer?”

Fitz just glared, he could feel his blood boil while Ward chuckled. “No matter, I’ll find a way to make it happen. And have my fun while I’m it.”

Unable to contain his anger anymore Fitz lunged at Ward, chains rattling, ribs screaming in protest.

“There he is!” Ward clapped hands together, almost gleeful. “Leopold Fitz, welcome to the party! Did I finally touch a nerve?” Fitz spat at him again; a nice glob of spit landed right on his brow and dripped down into his eye. Ward’s smile darkened as he landed another blow to Fitz’s face, his lips splitting open.

“Did you fall for her? Peasant trash like you?” Ward laughed leaned against table behind him. “Lady Jemma is meagre means to be sure, but she is a lady none the less. Did you really think she’d be happy slumming with outlaw?” Fitz heart clenched, but he kept his face still and stoic. 

“Maybe I’ll summon her down here. Bed her tonight, right here,” Ward slapped the tabletop. “Make you watch as the woman you love pleads for my cock.” He grinned and rose from his seat as he to the wall on the far side of the room. “Maybe I’ll use a few little toys with her, try and get that scream out. Tell me Fitz, think she’ll like sting of whip?” He showed Fitz the long leather strap, running his fingers tenderly over it.

“Or maybe this,” he pulled small metal contraption from held it in front of Fitz’s face. “It’s called the Pear of Anguish.” Ward twisted the screw on the bottom and the bulbous top spread apart. “I’ve used this on a few whores at the brothel time or two, it never fails to produce. What do you say, hmm? I can fill Jemma’s little quim with this; spread it apart nice and wide while she chokes my cock. Then there’s this,” he turned wall again, the view of whatever he was after blocked by his body. “A lovely little thing from the Spaniards.”

He turned back around glove on hand, thin, gleaming claws extended out from its fingertips. “I’ve found that women really scratch up the back and the brothel madams make you pay extra if you leave marks on their girls. But my wife, now I can do as I please with her. So maybe I’ll use this, and get out ahead of the problem; few good swipes early on should teach Jemma to keep her claws to her self.”

“You sick son of a bitch!” Fitz pulled violently against restraints again and kicked out at his capture as best he could.

“Now that wasn’t very kind of you, Fitz,” Ward smirked and swiped his gloved hand across Fitz’s chest. Fitz gasp pain sharp sting and Ward’s smile deepened at the sight. “Oh, maybe this is just a might too sharp for games have mind for my bride-to-be. At least for now.”

Fitz hung his head, hiding his face as a burning pain bloomed out of his chest. He took in the slash marks that sat right over his heart, and watched as the blood spread over his shirt.

“I think I’ll save more of that for later,” Ward took the glove off. “After all I do need to leave you in tact for Uncle’s show.”

“When I get out here,” Fitz lifted his head. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“You don’t kill,” Ward scoffed. “You do not have stomach for it.”

Fitz's eyes flashed steel. “I lost whatever taste I had for bloodshed in Holy Land. I killed too many on the order of the King, it took a toll. So when I got back I promised myself, that I would never again would take another life. But I'll make an exception in your case, you twisted bastard.” Ward’s gaze hardened, Fitz took it further. “Are you even brave enough to take on enemy who isn’t bound or weakened? Or is that why you treat women as you do? You find it more of an even fight?”

Ward backhanded him across face, and Fitz braced himself the best he could against barrage of blows that followed.

*

Ward was exhausted as he sat back on the table, but he watched with glee as Fitz struggled keep his eyes open. It had been quite the beating, he wouldn't lie he was surprised the man was still conscious, even if he was fighting a losing battle. A knock came at the door, interrupting his musings. “What is it?” He barked, the guards knew better than to disturb him when he had a prisoner in here.

The door opened, but it wasn't a guard who entered as he’d been expecting. “Lady Jemma?” He stood with surprise and walked closer to her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted see how you were doing with the Outlaw,” she smiled at him and then turned a disgusted look at their guest. “I never was able to get much out of him at the camp.”

“I’ve found some,” he trailed off searching for the word and looking Jemma up and down. “Interesting details to exploit. It isn’t really about gaining information now anyways, Uncle Gideon is confident that with their leader gone the rest his little troupe won’t last long.”

“They didn't seem like the brightest bunch,” Jemma admitted with an eye roll. “I’ve also brought you something.”

“Did you now,” He leaned in, a predatory smile across his face. “What might that be My Lady?”

“An elixir,” she held a small bottle up between them. “It will help keep your energy up.”

“I assure you My Lady,” Ward grinned. “I have more than enough stamina.”

Jemma pouted. “Well, would you be willing to smell it at least? To see if it’s agreeable to you in case it’s needed in the future.”

“If it pleases you,” Ward nodded and took the bottle from her hands. “And I hope you will remember this and please my own requests. At a later time, of course.”

Jemma smiled happily as Ward brought the bottle to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Oh,” He pulled the bottle away sharply. “That’s a…it’s a…” Ward staggered where he stood, his eyes rolled back, and he fell to the ground, his head smacking edge table on the way down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary for those who skipped the reading for trigger reasons. Ward has Fitz in the dungeons, there is some talk about what the future holds for Fitz, for Ward and for Jemma. Jemma interrupts the talk and uses a concoction of her own making to kick Ward out.
> 
> Historical notes: Fitz asks if John likes to be called 'Lackland'. This was King John I's nick name shortly after he was born. He had three surviving older brothers, Henry, Richard and Geoffrey, and unlike his brother was given no lands at birth hence the nickname. This was a time when the King of England also held property in France as well as England and Ireland so it was seen as deep slight to his youngest son. despite all this John was actually favoured by his father, to the point of coddling over indulgence of his desires, which probably why he acted as he did when he became King and the image of him as cruel, greedy, stupid and tyrannical persists in stories like Robin Hood, even though it's accurate or even wholly deserved. I'm not saying he was good King by any means, but he wasn't the villainous King of legend either.
> 
> Pear of Anguish: **Warning torture device discussed** There is a lot of debate about this device, including whether it was used for torture or not. Some people date it, because of the mechanics and materials to the 17th century at earliest, but there are references to an actual torture device called a choke pear (also an actual fruit, believed to be the inspiration for both names) that is described as almost an identical device dating to the late 12th century. It fits the story and Ward being a sadistic SOB in this story so I'm going with the later. And some now, like many torture devices, have been modified to be used as a sex toy. (Finally the History of Sexuality class I took because I was 19 and 'hey sex' was often at the forefront of my mind comes in handy! Actually this is a lie it was a really interesting class and I'm glad I took it, even if my reason for taking at the time was 'hey sex!')


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing after the last couple episodes?

Jemma let out a harsh breath when Ward hit the ground and ran to where Fitz was chained. He was a bloody mess. “Oh God, Fitz. I am so sorry.”

“Jemma?” he croaked weakly as she brought hands to his face. “What are you–”

“Shh,” she hushed, as she looked for a way to get him down. “Save your strength, try and stay awake.”

The door crashed open behind them and Jemma head snapped up to see who had entered. 

“We heard a big crash, is that what meant by ‘you’ll know when you...’” Hunter trailed off as he took in Ward’s crumpled figure on ground. “Yup that’s what you meant.”

“Help me get him down! The crank over there!” Jemma barked. Hunter ran to the wall winch and turned it lowering Fitz down. “Gently!” Jemma snapped, when Fitz yelped at the jarring motion.

They settled him on the ground. Daisy found the keys to his chains and removed the cuffs, which Hunter turned around and used to secure Ward to the table. Jemma carefully lowered Fitz’s arms down to his sides and scanned the damage done to his body.

“These’ll need stitching,” she noted to the cuts on his chest and moved her hands gently along his already bruised sides. “He’s go broken ribs on both sides; they should be wrapped, I have bandages up in my room.”

“There’s no time, Jemma,” Hunter stilled her hands. “We have to go, now.”

“But he –”

“Jemma,” Daisy cut her off gently. “Bobbi and Mack will handle this, you taught them well. We have salves and other supplies back at camp.”

“But you’re moving camp.”

“We’ll be sure and take them with us.”

“He shouldn’t move much, not until he’s had time to heal, he could push a rib into his lung.” 

“We’ll see how well, Thick Head here listens to that,” Hunter smirked.

“I can hear you, you know,” Fitz groaned.

“Well hear this, get up,” Hunter hauled him to his feet, ignoring his groan of pain and slung Fitz’s arm over shoulder hauling him to the door.

“Careful!” Jemma protested, following them out into the corridor.

“Fitz escaped,” Daisy began, falling in step with Hunter and supporting Fitz’s other side. “You found Ward knocked out, you were coming to see how things were going, if you could be of any service.”

“I going to give him an elixir,” Jemma continued

“Good,” Hunter continued. “You found Ward on the ground, you didn't want to leave him.”

“I was scared, I wasn’t sure what to do. He looked so helpless laying there,” she elaborated. 

“Perfect,” Daisy grinned.

“What about the tax money?”

“Handled,” Hunter answered as they came to where the hall branched in two, one path leading to the cellar, other up into the main part of castle. “Jemma we have to go.”

“Be safe,” she whispered, and watched as they made their way down the hall and out of her life.

*

Elena lowered bags of coins down, one at a time, to Mack in the tunnels below.

“This is very brave of you,” the big man called up. “Helping us like this.”

“It’s nothing,” she shrugged and passed next bag. “Jemma trusts you, that means I do too.”

“She means a lot to you.” It was an observation, not a question.

“She’s my best friend,” Elena answered simply. “Ever since I came to England from Spain as a child.” 

“The only word of Spanish I know is ‘pescado,’” 

“Get the rest of those bags down, now!” a hiss from down the hall interrupted Elena’s laughter.

She looked up and saw Hunter and Daisy making way to hole, Fitz supported between them. “Dios,” she gasped at the sight of the outlaw leader. “What did that monster do to him?”

“A lot,” Daisy grunted and kicked the remaining bags down to Mack.

“Hey!” Mack’s deep protest echoed up from chamber below.

“Hurry,” Daisy cut across, as she swung her legs into the hole. “Fitz is hurt, Jemma’s going to delay as long as she can but Malick’s men aren’t going to be far behind us.”

“Can you lower yourself down?” Hunter asked as he set Fitz on the ground. Fitz gritted his teeth and nodded, Hunter looked up at Elena. “Help him?”

She nodded and watched as he too dropped through the opening and into the caves.

“Thank you,” Fitz groaned as Elena helped move his legs to lip of entrance.

“She loves you,” Elena stated firmly. “Jemma,” she clarified. “She’s in love with you.”

“No,” Fitz frowned. “No, she’s not.”

“I’ve known Jemma a very long time,” Elena gave him a sad smile. “She’s always found something to put before herself; her mother, her father, Knighton. They all came before Jemma and her interests, her desires, without fail. Until you; that means something.”

“Fitz hurry,” Mack’s voice range from below. 

He looked back at Elena and gave her a tight smile; one of acceptance, if not belief and for now, it would have to do.

Fitz dropped down into the cave with a groan, Mack’s hands bracing his drop. The big man wrapped his arm around his large shoulders and all but carried Fitz out of the tunnels and into the cover of Sherwood Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter, hope you enjoy.

Malick was furious his prize had escaped without a trace. 

“He had to have told you something!” He raged at Jemma as his men returned from the outlaws' camp. It had been completely cleared of everything, a shell of the shelter that once stood there so they had reported.

“Why would he?” Jemma argued as calmly as she could. “I was an outsider, they didn't trust me with anything more than my eyes could see. I've done my job Sheriff, now you do yours.”

When she’d finally been allowed to see her father for more than few moments, she jumped at the chance to inspect his wound. “This could have been far worse,” she mused as she dabbed some salve on the stump where his left hand once stood. “It almost pains me to admit this but Malick’s surgeon did a good job, the fold and sutures are healing nicely.”

“I’ve been treated well,” Phil smiled at daughter.

“Malick had your hand cut off!”

“I meant by the physician,” he clarified. “A young man, I can’t remember his name. Lewis, maybe, no, Lawrence?”

“It doesn't matter,” Jemma wrapped a fresh bandage around his wrist. “Father I am so, so, sorry.”

“Whatever for?” He carded his fingers through her hair.

“This,” she gestured to his arm. “It was all my fault.”

“It was no such thing.”

“I should have been faster,” Jemma shook her head. “I should have know that Malick would–” 

“And exactly when did you add mind reading to the list of your many talents?” Phil interrupted. “What we learn after an event, it always sheds light on the things we wish we had known before we made the choices we did. You did all you could, you aren’t to blame for this.”

“But I-”

“Do you blame me for your mother’s death?”

“What?” She gasped. “Of course not!”

“Why?” Her father shrugged. “I could have realized sooner how ill she was. Ignored her when she said it was nothing and gotten a doctor to see her sooner.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Jemma protested. “You did all you could. All she would let you do.”

“So did you,” he smiled down at her as his fingers continued their soothing. “All you could and so much more; I couldn't be more proud of you”

She sighed and rested her head against his knee, revelling in his touch. “Have you every questioned everything you ever knew?”

“I had a brilliant, strong willed wife and a daughter who even more so, so, yes,” Phil grinned. “All the time. What happened?”

“Outlaws are supposed to be barbaric, brash, criminals only out themselves. But not them,” Jemma shook her head. “They are good people. Fitz is a good man.”

“You care for him,” Phil observed.

“I care about all of them.”

“Him especially,” he smiled. “You love him.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“Of course it does!” He took her hand in his and squeezed. “Your happiness matters, Jemma. You look me in the eye right now and tell me you can truly be happy with Grant Ward, and I will never speak another word about this. If not, then we will find a way out of this. I’ll find a way to get you back to him.”

“I betrayed him,” she shook her head sadly. “I used him. He felt for my reasons but, it still cuts deep.”

“Cuts heal, Jemma,” he reassured and brought his hands to her cheek.

“They can also scar,” she kissed his palm. “Get some rest.”

*

Time passed slowly, a fortnight felt like a months, and there was no word of Fitz or rest of the outlaws. There were no reports of robberies their style, no nobles or wealthy merchants had been attacked on the road, and if the villagers seen them, they kept silent. Malick’s frustration grew and more with each passing day as he threw all the resources at his disposal into the search.

Jemma, Elena and her father were almost all but left alone; it almost felt like old times in Knighton, before she’d gotten into this mess. It was freeing, in many ways, but it was also stifling as she waited for the other shoe to drop. She had taken up new hobbies to pass the time. The staves she had practiced with Bobbi, throwing axes like Mack had taught her, and of course archery. 

“Do you think they’ve done it already?” Elena asked Jemma came back with another armload arrows that had missed their mark. She still hadn’t managed to have a shot as good as that day in the glen with Fitz; it was frustrating but she guessed there was something to be said for beginners luck.

“The tax money?” Elena nodded as Jemma nocked another arrow. “They’re smart, I wager they’ll keep it hidden a while longer; they know heat is on them.” She loosed her shot, and watched as the arrow sailed to the far left of the target. She sighed readied her next shot.

“Take a breath first,” a new voice called familiar words out.

“May,” Jemma turned to face the new comer; a serious faced woman leaned against the fence next to Elena. Whatever she was going say in greeting was cut off by May nodding to target.

“Refocus,” the older woman instructed. “And don't hold your breath.”

Jemma rolled her shoulders and squared herself to the target again. She drew back on the string and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, exhaled and loosed the shot again. Only this time she watched as her arrow hit the second circle of the red rope target. It still wasn’t as good as it had been with Fitz but it was an improvement to say the least.

“What you doing here May?” Jemma turned back to look at father’s clerk.

“She’s here for our wedding of course,” Jemma’s blood ran cold at Ward’s voice from the other side of the range. Typically Grant was out with guards aiding in the search, but he still found ways get underfoot and remind her exactly what her future held. “Axes and archery, I must admit you do surprise me, My Lady,” he smiled as he walked through fence to her side.

“I’m not sure what tell you,” she shot him her biggest diplomatic smile. “I guess I’m feeling inspired; I’m somewhere new, I should do something new.”

“Inspiration is good, very promising of things to come,” he eyed her up and down. “Come by my chambers later tonight, I’ll happily show you all ways I’ve been inspired.”

Jemma opened her mouth, but she had no words. Ward had been suggestive before but never quite so thinly veiled.

“That sounds lovely, Sir Grant,” May sounded from her side of the fence. “What is it you do up in your room? Paint? Or the harp perhaps; how is you will entertain us?”

“‘Us?’” He hissed with an eyebrow raised.

“As Jemma’s chaperones of course Miss Elena and I will be with her at all times, until the wedding,” May glared.

Ward huffed out a breath and offered them no more words as he stomped back to the castle.

Jemma slumped fence relief. “Thank you,” she looked up at May a small but genuine smile on her face.

“I’m serious,” May gave her a fierce glare. “One of us will always be with you. We’ll keep you safe from him for as long as we possibly can. Until your father and I can figure a way out of this. Alright?”

Jemma nodded, and pressed her lips together tightly, then leaned over promptly vomited her breakfast onto the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody, what did y'all think of the last episode. I totally think Fitzsimmons have something up their sleeves, how about you? Well enough with the preamble, here's the chapter, hope you enjoy.

Jemma was sick the next morning and throughout the next three days. She was tired, her head ached,and her stomach tied itself in knots. It left her unable to keep much of anything down. 

“We’ll figure this out Jemma,” Elena reassured, rubbing at Jemma’s back as she exited the garderobe. “Everyone gets sick, and often that’s all it is. We can have the court physician –”

“No,” Jemma cut off her off. “No, I don't want see a physician.”

“Jemma,” Elena admonished. “This ones not like others doctors. There’s no blood letting, or humours or leeches; I watched him treat your father, it was like watching you.”

“That’s not why,” she protested.

“Then why?”

“Because he’ll have to examine me!” 

“He’s a doctor,” Elena raised an eyebrow. “He’s supposed to examine you, it’s nothing untoward.”

“Yes but,” Jemma raked her fingers through her hair. “I know you like him, but if I let him examine me then he’ll report his findings to Malick, he’s obligated to.”

“What findings?”

“That I’m…” she sat down on the bed. “That I’m not virgin anymore.”

Elena’s jaw drop and Jemma’s hands curled up around neck, a nervous habit she never broke. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Jemma,” she shook head, still shocked. “Could this…could you be…with child?” 

Her friend nodded, her lip held tight between her teeth. 

“Is it…is it Fitz?” she sat down next to her.

She nodded again.

“Jemma!” Elena slapped her knee.

“I know, I know,” Jemma dropped her head into her hands. “It was so wrong, in so many ways.”

“I can’t believe it,” Elena fell back against the mattress.

“I know.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“What?” Jemma’s head snapped up.

“The Jemma Simmons I grew up with would have never done half the things you have,” Elena laughed. “It shows growth, Jemma. There’s nothing wrong realizing your own desires and acting upon them.”

“There is so much wrong with that, Elena,” Jemma said sadly.

“The timing may be a bit off but Jemma,” she halted whatever she was going to say and watched as her friend raced garderobe again. “I’m getting Lincoln.”

*

“How much sleep have you been getting since you returned?” The tall blonde man asked, as he gently felt Jemma’s neck.

“Not much,” She answered nervously. The physical had gone swiftly so far, but he had said nothing, why had he said nothing?

“And you’re eating?”

“Not much last few days,” Elena supplied. “Broths mostly.”

“Understandable,” Lincoln nodded and cleaned his hands bowl of warm water. “Well Lady Jemma, this may not be what you want to hear, but my opinion is that this illness is simply due to stress.”

“Stress?” Jemma looked at him surprised.

“Between the attack on the carriage, your time in forest, helping take down a group of outlaws, even planning your wedding,” he rhymed off. “Not to mention all the other goings on here, your body is catching up with the fatigue. It happens. You need to rest.”

“Her favourite word,” Elena mused from the corner of the room.

“All healers make worst patients,” he grinned. “So Lady Jemma, how did I do?”

“Sorry?”

“All I heard while I was treating your father was your skill as a healer. It seems Elena and your father think you better than most physicians, so I’m curious where I rank in scheme of things,” he shrugged.

Jemma laughed. “Well I'm not covered in leeches and you haven’t dismissed me as merely hysteric so I admit you’ve impressed me.”

“I’m glad,” Lincoln smiled. “When you’re feeling better I would love to discuss some remedies and treatments you use that Elena made mention of, they sound very interesting.”

“I would like that,” Jemma smiled back. “Doctor Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“About some of your findings,” Jemma swallowed hard. “I was hoping…”

“Do you ride Lady Jemma?” he interrupted whatever she was going to say.

“Sorry?”

Lincoln looked her right in the eyes. “The only thing I’m going to tell the Sheriff is that you need rest,” he finished packing up his supplies. “As for whatever else I may or may not have found, well there are many reason can contribute.”

“Like horseback riding?” Jemma guessed.

“Among other things,” he smiled reassuringly. “All of which I am more than happy to explain should the need arise.” 

“I appreciate that.”

“There are other work a rounds as well, though I pray you won’t need them.” He kissed her hand and slipped something up her sleeve. “Have a good day, Lady Jemma, please get some rest.” 

Jemma reached up her sleeve as Lincoln left the room and felt cool metal. She pulled it out carefully, and looked down at the small surgical knife he had left her. The corners of her mouth ticked up, it was nice to know she and her family weren't in this fight alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If there are any errors let me know, I've been self editing, and know i've missed stuff in the past.  
> Historical note: Garderobes now are considered a closet, but most of the time when talking about a castle, it refers to the privy.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! See the end notes for some Historical trivia. WARNING: Suicide is mentioned, as is self harm (kind of). If any of this is a trigger for you, you can skip to the second paragraph

Jemma slept with the blade Lincoln had given her under her pillow that night; all the uses for it ran through her head. She could use the blade to slit Grant’s throat while they slept, but she doubted that’s why the doctor had given it too her. Besides it didn’t save her from the horrors her wedding night could entail. She could use it to take her own life before they even made it to bed, feign some excuse and duck into the privy, but again, doctors typically didn't condone the taking of a life, it couldn't have been what he meant. Not to mention what either action could spell for Knighton and her father. Besides, despite how much she had grown as a result of her time with the outlaws, she doubted her mettle to do the job. Maybe she could use one of her tonics, the opium mixture she saved for surgeries, perhaps; it had proven effective in knocking Ward out once maybe it would work again. Then she could use the knife to cut herself, a small nick somewhere discreet, just enough to leave a stain on the sheets. It was a plan, but she wanted to run the idea by Lincoln, maybe he had a better idea.

Only she didn’t have time to go and see the doctor the next morning, as a little slip of paper arrived at her door and sent her plans crashing to the ground. Malick had sent her an invitation to have tea with him that afternoon. To Jemma, however, it felt like more invitation to lions den, as he ushered her inside his solar. 

“Take a seat my dear,” he gestured to the seat across from him. “Doctor Campbell has informed me that your recent illness is nothing of concern, you are on the mend?” He passed her a cup and poured one for himself.

“Yes,” she took a small sip. “It was simply fatigue, everything just caught up with me now that I don’t need to be on high alert.” 

“No doubt your new pursuits have contributed as well, I’ll have the range master take the targets away,” Malick mused.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jemma gave him a smile. “I lived a very active life in Knighton; bowling, horseshoes, horseback riding, even a game of shinty on occasion. I only need a few days rest, to catch up on some sleep, it was difficult to come by in the forest and I find leading an active lifestyle allows for rest to come more easily.”

“If you’re sure,” the Sheriff hesitated.

“I am,” she responded as firmly as she dared. “But thank you for your concern.”

“Of course,” Malick smiled. “We are to be family soon after all. And on that note I wish tell you some news you may find distressing, I’ve been hesitant to tell you as you’ve been so ill.”

“Oh,” she hoped he couldn’t see her worrying the inside of her lip. Had he caught Fitz? Or one of the gang? 

“I simply must call off the search for the outlaws,” Malick set the cup down hard on the table between them, betraying his frustration. “I’ve exhausted all resources and have been unable to find neither hide nor hair of them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” her heart settled back in her chest. “I know his escape was a great insult to you.”

“How that riffraff ever gained Richard’s favour I will never know, nor understand. Under King John things will certainly not be the same.”

“‘King John?’” Jemma raised an eyebrow. “King Richard still has time to have an heir, a legitimate one at least. Especially now that he’s married to that Navarre Princess.”

“Of course,” Malick smiled, tight lipped. “I still can’t believe how easily Fitz managed to escaped.”

“Well he is a clever man,” Jemma offered. “It’s naïve to think otherwise. I mean you saw for yourself how intricate his hideout was."

“That he is,” Malick took another sip of tea. “Let’s move on to happier news shall we; your nuptials. I hear your wedding dress has finally arrived, I trust it’s to your satisfaction.”

Jemma nodded. “It’s beautiful.” And she supposed to many it would be. It was made of layers of expensive white silk and the topcoat had the most exquisite embroidery she’d ever seen. It wasn’t at all what she had pictured for herself, she would have preferred something simpler; something wool with a bit of detailing, dyed green perhaps to bring out her eyes, or maybe blue to match…

“Certainly the wedding is something to look forward too," Malick broke her out of her thoughts. "I’m hoping all of this, fatigue, won’t effect your wedding night.”

Jemma couldn’t stop herself from stiffening at his implication. “It won’t.”

“Good, I know how much Grant looking forward to that,” Malick clapped his hands together. “You know, there’s old tale that tells of how prosperous a marriage will be, how many children it will produce I mean, by the stain left on the sheets the morning after. I’m interested to see what it will say for you and my nephew.” 

Jemma wasn’t fooled, she knew exactly what he was saying, and she refused to let it faze her. “Nonsense superstition,” she dismissed with a sip of tea. “You may be interested to know that are some physicians now, your own Doctor Campbell included, that hold to a theory that if a woman is treated properly, given time to get used to things, instead of a man just rushing head long in, she won’t bleed. And your nephew is not exactly subtle about his hints as to his skills in the bed chamber so I should be in good hands. At least if Grant is as skilled as he’s letting on.”

A knock at the door stopped Malick from responding as he ordered who ever it was to enter.

“We found them sir,” one of the guards who came into the room said, holding out a familiar jar and satchel.

“Hey,” Jemma protested. “Those are mine.”

“You heard her,” Malick nodded to the guards and Jemma instantly knew she had made a mistake. “She doesn't even deny it. Take Lady Jemma to the dungeons.”

“What?” She cried as guards seized her arms and pulled her to her feet. “Let go of me.”

“Lady Jemma, a vial very similar to this, was found at the scene of Leopold Fitz’s escape, where an also assault took place on Sir Grant Ward,” The Sheriff smirked. “Your identification of the items serves as your confession, and you will be confined to the dungeons until such time as a trial can take place.”

“Get off of me!” she demanded as the guards dragged her out the door. “Get off! Malick! Malick, you’ll pay for this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Historical note: Shinty is a game similar to the Irish game hurling, just the Scottish version; think of both like field hockey meets rugby. It's highly doubtful that a woman of Jemma's station would have played this game, but hey, Jemma likes to do surprising things so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. Also, I thought it was funny, picturing the look on Malick's face.
> 
> Richard I married Berengaria of Navarre in 1191 and took her on Crusade with him, at least for the first portion. They never had any children together, and it isn't known if she ever actually came to England or not, certainly not while Richard was alive. She is sometimes called the "only English queen to never step foot in the country." 
> 
> White wedding dresses didn't become the norm until 1840 and the popularity is attributed to Queen Victoria. Silk dresses were also uncommon, as silk was quite expensive even for members of the aristocracy. Wool and linen were the stables for most classes.
> 
> Richard I had an illegitimate son, Philip of Cognac. He was also called Philip Fitz Roy (Son of Royal). Philip is the only one who was recognized by Richard, but it has been theorized that some of John's illegitimate children, like Henry Fitzroy, are actually Richard's.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did y'all think of Infinity War? I thought it was awesome! Don't worry no spoilers for it here! If you haven't seen it yet I highly recommend. Enjoy!

“He’s barely moved since we got here!” Hunter shouted at the pair in front of him. 

“It’s only been a coupe of weeks,” Daisy protested.

“His injuries were really bad,” Bobbi put in. “Jemma was right his ribs were broken, not to mention the separation of his shoulders. We did him no favours by moving camp as quickly as we did.”

“The Fitz we know would never let a couple of broken ribs and a sore shoulder stop him,” Hunter countered. “For Christ’s sake he was injured in the Holy Land and immediately took forest when he got home.”

“His injuries from the Crusade were not as sever as these; a bad cut that made him take a fever. Not to mention he had weeks longer to recover from that. The only reason he was sent home was because the King was moving on and didn't want to delay waiting for the injured to recover.” Bobbi argued. 

“Maybe it isn’t just physical is all I’m saying. Something else shook him, up here,” he tapped the side of his head.

“I assure you Hunter,” Fitz said coming up behind them, moving slowly, his hand holding his side. “I’m in full possession of my mental faculties, and I’d still be smarter than you even if I weren’t.”

“What are you doing up?” Daisy asked.

“I’m going hunting,” he answered simply.

“No!”

“Fitz, are you crazy?” Bobbi stood in front of him, blocking his exit. “You need more time to rest.”

“I don't have more time, and neither do we,” he groaned as he lowered himself onto a rock. “Winter will be here soon. We have villagers to feed and ourselves to take care of. It’s time to get back to normal.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Daisy bit her lip.

“Yup,” he nodded and tugged his boots on. “When I get back we need to talk through plans for the tax money; where’s Mack?”

“Right here,” a deep voice boomed from the mouth of the cave. They all turned and saw Mack’s hulking silhouette, but he wasn't alone.

“Elena? What are you doing here?” Fitz frowned. “And who are you?” he asked the third figure.

“Melinda May,” Hunter gasped as the slight woman stepped forward.

“How do you know who she is?” Bobbi raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a legend,” he gestured. “There was a raid on Clunn some twenty years ago, May took on fifty armed soldiers from Lincolnshire, beat them all back without a scratch on her. They call her the Cavalry.”

“That’s not what happened,” the woman glared. “And never call me that again.”

“Why are you here?” Bobbi brought conversation back around.

“Jemma,” Elena gulped. “Malick knows she helped you escape.”

“He knows it, but he can’t prove it,” May continued. “So he’s accused her of witchcraft. She’s to hang at sunrise.”

Fitz’s mind went blank, gang’s voices sounded all around him

“Witchcraft?”

“Any half brain can look at what Jemma does and know she a healer, it’ll never stick.”

“It already has.”

“So what do we do?”

Fitz wasn’t listening anymore, his body was coiled tight and he took off like a shot. 

“Fitz wait,” Mack called after him. “We need a plan.” Fitz ignored him, until he was tackled to the ground with a burst of pain in his side. “Sorry,” Mack said gruffly as he held him down.

“You’re always after us to think,” Daisy tried to sooth as she came up to them. “Listen to your own advice. We need to be smart about this.”

“Take a breath,” May pushed Mack off gently and pulled Fitz up to sitting position. “Use your head, you’re good at that; it’s how you’ve been able evade Malick so long.”

“Malick,” Fitz repeated, his brain spinning. Malick knew news of the execution would spread. The daughter of a Lord accused of witchcraft, it would be heard all over England, not just the shire. Malick wanted him to show up, wanted him to feel pressed for time, to rush in and make mistakes, mistakes with deadly consequences.

“That’s his thinking face,” Hunter put in as Fitz rubbed his index finger across his lips.

“Tell us everything you know,” Fitz demanded jumping to his feet and marching back to the cave for parchment and something to write with.

Elena followed hot on his heels. “Malick invited her to tea the other day, but it was a ruse to get her out of her room so the guards could perform a search. They found her supply of herbs and salves; he’s using those as evidence against her. One of her jars was found in the dungeons from when she helped you escape. But of course how could a small jar of a tonic knock a man of Ward’s stature out completely by just the smell? So he’s spun a story about how it was a potion, that all the jars held potions, meant to cause harm and wreck havoc. The court physician, Lincoln, testified that all the things they found were medicinal in nature, he also spoke of Jemma’s known work as a healer, but another doctor said there was no way a woman could know how to treat the body and soul. Besides leeches and blood letting are proven, not her potions and brews.”

“We could get her out same way we got you,” Mack offered. “Guard uniforms and tunnels; it worked once.”

“Won’t work again,” May shook her head. “Malick discovered the tunnel entrance and doubled the guard, it’s crawling with them.”

“We take the battlements,” Fitz said firmly and spread out a drawing of castle grounds. “They’ll be doing the execution in the courtyard, the battlements give us the best vantage point.”

“Do you know how many guards are going to be up there?” Bobbi challenged.

“Twenty if he’d doubled the guard there as well,” Fitz answered. “Ten walking clockwise, and ten anti-clockwise in a quarter hour rotation.”

“Fitz,” Bobbi intoned, knowing what he was thinking.

“Don't worry Bobbi, I can do it.”

And do it he did. From the cover of trees at the forests edge, he loosed arrow after arrow into the guards as they approached the far side of the high wall and sent silent prayer above for each as they tumbled into the river below. It took over an hour to take out all the guards himself but Fitz had insisted he be the only shooter. He didn't want to place the burden of taking a life on any one's shoulders but his own. Once it was clear the outlaws settled themselves in places high above the courtyard, donning the guards’ helmets and taking up the rotation to not draw suspicion. May and Elena went back into the castle, they had a mission unto themselves to complete. Fitz looked down into the courtyard where the gallows already been erected, the only thing there was to do now was wait; Fitz hated waiting.

Just before cockcrow people began to file in through palisade in droves. Peasants and nobles alike, talking and musing with those around them; nothing brought the classes together like an execution. Just as sun crested over the ramparts the trumpets sounded from the castle steps bringing the chattering to a silence. Malick stepped out and walked down to the gallows, a wide smile on his face as he looked out over the throng of villagers below.

“Lords, Ladies, people of the shire, welcome one and all,” Malick called loudly to the crowd. “We are gathered here to day to witness the carrying out of justice in the name of God and our King.” He nodded back to castle entrance and a moment later Ward stepped out door, leading Jemma by the arm, guards flanking them on either side.

Fitz was surprised, he had expected see Jemma as swollen and beaten as he had been, but only a small cut marred her right cheek. He knew that it wasn’t all there was, her clothes likely covered something far worse, he knew she was probably in pain, but you wouldn't know it by looking at her. Jemma held her chin high, her eyes were forward and defiant; she was radiant.

“Ahem,” Malick cleared throat and drew attention back to him, as Jemma was frog marched up the steps of the platform. “Let it be heard and know throughout the realms of His Majesty, Richard, King of England. That on this day, the Second of November, in the year of our Lord Eleven Hundred and Ninety Two that this woman has been tried under law and been found guilty of witchcraft. Jemma Simmons of Knighton.”

Fitz gritted his teeth and watched as Jemma was forced up onto the stool, the rope placed around her neck. 

“This same woman,” Malick continued. “Has been sentenced to death, and shall hang from a rope until she is dead,” Ward had the hood ready to place over her head when Malick stopped him. “No hood, lets use this as an example. Everyone is seen as equal under the eyes of the law, even the nobility.”

Ward smirked and tossed the burlap aside to the horror of the crowd below. Fitz gripped his bow tighter as Malick signalled for the drums to start their steady rhythm. 

Malick raised his hand; Fitz rose from his spot, his bow at the ready.

The drums picked up their pace and Malick nodded executioner. “May God find it prudent have mercy on her soul.”

He dropped his hand; Fitz released the string and watched the arrow sailed through air; never hoping more aim was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. How you all doing after that finale? I'm a wreck. I thought it was a massive slap in the face, especially considering how close it was to a series finale. Well at least we have a good long time now to cool off, and hopefully plenty of time to do some writing. Speaking of which here's the new chapter.

Jemma closed her eyes as the executioner reached for the lever that would trigger the noose. She felt the stool tip forward under her feet and began to pray. 

She prayed for her father. Prayed that he would be alright, that he wouldn’t grieve her too long. He never deserved to lose his wife and now his only child on top of it, she was so sorry he had to go though this.

She prayed for Elena. Prayed that her friend would keep hold of her temper. That she wouldn’t do anything that got her into trouble. She prayed that she stayed safe and lived a long, happy life.

She prayed for May. Prayed that she to find her happiness again, somehow. The woman was like a second mother to her, and she was already so shrouded in sadness, the lingering guilt of actions beyond her control, the lives she couldn’t save. Jemma prayed that she would not take this on her already over burdened shoulders.

She prayed for Fitz. Prayed that he find love someday, a real love, not a one tainted by betrayals. She prayed, more than anything that he realized love wasn't something that needed to be earned constantly, but something that is given freely, without any string attached to it. He more than anyone else she knew deserved that.

Jemma felt the edge of the stool leave her toes and then nothing was below her. She felt the rope tighten as her weight tried to pull her down to the ground, almost at once it was difficult to breath. She tried not to fight it; it would be quicker if she didn’t, but her body forced in another strangled breath. Darkness crept into the corner of her vision and she knew the end was near. She was just about to drift of into the blackness when without warning she crashed hard into the ground. She sucked in gasps of air as soon as the tension left her neck, her vision still distorted but all around her she could hear chaos. Voices calling, figures darting to and fro, trying to figure out what had happened. She rolled onto her back and saw it, an arrow lodged into the upright of the gallows; it had severed the rope that held her. “Fitz,” she sighed in relief as gentle hands grabbed her and pulled her off podium.

“Malick!” Fitz roared from his perched on high wall of battlement. His bow raised, arrow at the ready, pointed directly at the Sheriff.

“What’s your plan, Leopold?” Malick asked. “Would you really shoot me in front of all these people?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Fitz sneered as he gripped his bow tighter.

“Come on now boy, we all know you don’t kill,” the Sheriff chortled. “You don't have the heart.”

“Would you care to rethink that, Malick?” he asked. “Think it through, if I’m up here where are all your guards? I’ll even give you a hint, check the river.”

Malick’s face twisted. “You would really shoot an innocent man?”

“Innocent?” Fitz scoffed. “You?”

“I am simply carrying out the course of justice,” he said and nodded to the guards. The man took aim but Fitz shot the bow out of his hands before he could loose the string.

“The course of justice?” Fitz repeated. “Really? I didn't know you were a jester, Sheriff.”

“This is ridiculous, get down here Fitz,” Grant stepped forward. “Face us like a man.”

“Why don’t you come up here?” He offered. “I’d be happy to face you Ward, but you’d have to stop hiding behind your guards first.”

Ward glared up at him, but made did not move from the podium. 

“People of Nottingham,” Fitz declared. “Sheriffs are supposed to collect fair taxes for the King and work to keep the lands and the people safe from threat, in his name. But Sheriff Malick and his nephew are the biggest threat there is to the shire! Two years ago a devastating fire swept across the village of Knighton, Sheriff Malick had it set.”

Gasps and whispers broke out amongst the gathered crowd.

“He’s talking nonsense,” Malick dismissed. 

“You have no proof of these claims!” Ward hollered.

“Do I really need it?” Fitz gesture to the crowd. “The people certainly aren’t dismissing the idea.”

Malick looked out over the crowd; some were still chattering and darting looks back and forth between the dais and their neighbours, more still were glaring up at him.

“Anyways, who says I don’t have proof?” Malick looked up at the outlaw again, and saw the wide smirk on his face. “You really should post guards outside you war room Sheriff!”

Malick’s face dropped. 

“I had a few friends take a little look,” Fitz revealed. “What they found was very interesting.”

Phil stepped forward out of the crowd, reading loudly from a ledger. “…the pitch worked perfectly. A small amount slathered onto one of the houses sent all the rest up like a tinder box-”

“Lies!” Malick cut him off.

“The fire then spread to the fields,” May continued loudly from where Phil had left off as they passed the book between them. “I have some of my most trusted servants spread salt every other month so nothing can grow.”

“Stop this at once!” Malick barked. “Guards!”

But the guards did not move.

“You forget Sheriff, your guards are mostly villagers, they protect you as a way to protect their homes and families, once you threaten that well…” Fitz trailed off with a shrug.

Jemma, supported by Elena, continued reading the ledger. “Knighton will fall in due course. We will absolve into a garrison to house our mercenaries. Wadlow and Nettlestone will be dealt with once we have final confirmation of the numbers expected from Lord Whitehall. It’s important to realize, Radcliffe, that we need a strongly fortified defence in the North if we wish to take down Richard and make John King, only then can we turn our attention to Scotland and beyond.” 

Ward rushed forward, his sword drawn. “You stupid, bitch!”

Jemma stared him down as he jumped from the platform, only to watch as he toppled to the ground, and arrow in his leg. 

Chaos erupted all around as people rushed the fallen Ward and the stage in a frenzy of activity. Up in the battlements Fitz gave a little nod to the rest of the gang and Jemma watched as they lowered ropes over the edge and began to scale down into the courtyard to join the fray. As Fitz dropped down and righted himself Jemma immediately caught his eye. She looked him up and down; scanning for the injuries she knew weren’t fully healed. When her eyes finally locked on his face she could see his eyes examining her as well, taking her in, the way she stood supported by Elena, the cut marring her face. When his eyes finally found hers Jemma gave him a soft smile. She was alright, she tried to make it say, she was hurt, she was in pain, but she was alright, she would heal. Fitz nodded, and Jemma felt Elena tugging on her arm. She resisted, she didn't want to go, she needed to stay, she had to make sure that he was safe.

“Jemma we have to go,” Elena encouraged, pulling again.

“No,” Jemma disagreed. “We should stay, we should help them.”

“We will,” Phil stepped forward and scooped his daughter up into his arms. “The best way for us to do that now is get somewhere safe, so they can keep focus.”

Jemma heard nothing else as her father carried her away. She could feel the rumble of words in his chest, but their sound did not register to her ears as she watched Fitz move through the crowd until they turned out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! So sorry about the delay in posting this one, it's been a hectic, drama filled time IRL, and then I got caught up in a post 5x22 fic I posted earlier today.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, enjoy.

Sheriff Malick was dead. When the madness of the crowd had cleared he had been found on the podium, a knife sticking out of his chest. No one was sure who had done it, it could have been a guard, a villager, even a noble; no one stepped forward and claimed the crime, even with the promise of clemency. Fitz spent hours grilling his own gang, but all of them swore up and down that they had nothing to do with it, and Fitz was inclined to believe them. Malick’s death hadn't been the only blow to justice; Ward had also managed to slip away in the chaos. A warrant had been issued for his arrest, but he and his uncle had friends throughout Europe; he had plenty of places to hide. But it wasn't all bad, the weeks since Malick’s death had been prosperous for the villagers of Nottingham. Prince John, shocked by the news of a coup being planned in his name, had bowed to the will of the people and appointed Phil as the new Sheriff. All taxes had been suspended for the time being and for the first time in years the people were beginning to thrive.

The outlaws returned the tax money they had taken from the former Sheriff in full, and in return and recognition for their actions Phil pardoned them for their crimes and set them up with positions in his court. They all seemed to enjoy sticking around the castle, and Jemma relished in having them there. She worked on her hand to hand with Bobbi and Daisy, watched over more often than not by May. She ate with Hunter in the kitchens, she never would have guessed he had been a baker before he took to the forest. She visited with Mack in the forge where he had set up shop, more often than not accompanied by Elena. It made her smile at how close the pair had gotten, they were a good balance; his steadiness and patience helped calm Elena down, while her energy and spirit helped the big man open up more. Jemma had also started working with Lincoln in the surgery, sharing their techniques and knowledge. He even had her working with him on house calls in the villages; it was wonderful to expand her skills with someone who valued what she already knew. The person Jemma saw least was Fitz. She caught glimpses of him here or there, but he largely kept his distance from her. She understood of course, she had hurt him deeply, and he had new duties to keep him busy. He was helping train the new guard, he was working along side her father developing a new financial structure for the shire, and according to Mack he was down in the smithy lending a hand whenever he could. 

She was busy as well. Helping Lincoln of course, but she also had new responsibilities under her father, mostly concerning the running of the castle. When she arrived at the door to his chambers one morning to discuss her tasks for that day she heard voices coming from the solar.

“…Then a portion of the sales from the market comes back to us,” Jemma was able to make out May’s voice.

“We start small,” Her heart clenched as Fitz continued. “Something like two or three per cent, and then we can increase that percentage over time. But it’s more important now that we allow the traders to rebuild an income first. So they can continue to afford to work.”

“I like this idea, Fitz,” she could hear the smile in her father’s voice

“Thank you, Sir.”

“And the guards? How is the training and outfitting going?”

“It’s been going well,” May responded. “Bobbi has some ideas I'd like to start implementing.”

“And Mack and I are nearly finished making the new armour, all the guards are measured up and hopeful we can get it done by the end of the week.”

“Wonderful,” Phil declared. “Thank you, for the updates. Now if you’ll excuse us, Fitz, we have other matters to discuss.”

“Of course, Sir.”

The door swung open, and Jemma took a quick step back as Fitz walked out. They stared at each other for a moment, before Fitz cleared his throat. “Lady Jemma,” he nodded in greeting.

“Fitz, how are you?”

“I’m-”

“Jemma,” May poked her head into the corridor. “Come in. There’s a lot we need to talk about before you head into the town with Lincoln.”

Jemma looked up at Fitz, who nodded his head again, in departure this time and headed down the hall before she could say goodbye. She let out a deep sigh, it was difficult to admit but that had gone better than she had expected it to.

“Prince John is sending an envoy from the South to celebrate new beginnings for the shire,” Phil started as soon as she sat down. “They’ll be here in a week.”

“A week?” Jemma was stunned. They usually had a month at least to prepare for a summit like that.

“Yes,” her father nodded seriously, looking at the list in his hands. “He’s sending a number of his closest friends: the Earls of Essex, Warwick, Cornwall and Oxford. Plus their families, and members of staff from each household.”

“I will talk with Mrs Weaver,” Jemma promised, taking the list of names and expected number of heads for the housekeeper. “We’ll work on getting the appropriate number of rooms ready and as well as prepare some sample menus, hopefully I’ll have something back to you tonight, tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Though I can’t imagine she's going to be pleased with the lack of notice.”

“She’s a wise woman, I’m sure she’ll relish the challenge,” Phil bit his lip, he wasn't finished yet but Jemma could tell he was hesitating.

“There’s more,” she prompted.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat. “As of yet, all efforts to locate Grant Ward have been unsuccessful. He’s hidden himself away well. All guards who have been dispatched to search for him are being called back.”

Jemma’s breath hitched. She couldn’t help it, while she had expected that, it still made the cold fingers of dread wrap around her throat.

“I’m sorry Jemma,” Phil reached across the table and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “The warrant is still in place and will remain so until he’s captured.”

“It’s fine,” she swallowed. “Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d better get this list to Mrs Weaver before I have to leave with Lincoln.” Jemma stood and moved around the table, kissing her father on the cheek in goodbye. 

*

Jemma crawled into bed that night absolutely exhausted. As she’d expected Mrs Weaver had been furious at the short notice of the event. 

“Does the Prince think these kinds of things can just be planned overnight? It takes time to get all of the necessities here; I don’t know we have enough supplies in the larder. Not for anything fancy at least, and not for this many people.”

Jemma had assured the woman that whatever she came up with would be more than suitable; the delegates were visiting a northern shire, an impoverished one at that. If they expected it to be like it was in London then they would be in for a rude awakening and it would be the fault of no one at the castle. “You’re a miracle worker Mrs Weaver,” Jemma had insisted. “Take the night to come up with an appropriate menu, and I will approve whatever orders you need to filled it in the morning. We’ll do everything we can to make sure we have the all supplies you deem necessary.”

Then there had been her trip into the village with Lincoln. It had been to the house of an elderly couple, the man had been very ill with influenza; his lungs sounded like a crackling fire whenever he drew breath. Lincoln had cautioned her that there was likely little for them to do but make him comfortable and he’d been right, the man passed before they even finished their examination. His wife had wept, but Jemma took solace in the fact she had been surrounded by her children and grandchildren, that she wouldn’t be alone. None the less it had been a long, tiring day, and Jemma fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillows.

*

_Jemma sighed happily as she sunk deeper into his warm embrace. His arms were snugged tightly around her waist and his chest was solid at her back. It was heaven. The two of them tucked away in their little glen. It had been a wonderful day, the sun had shined bright all day with nary a cloud in sight. It had been perfect._

_“What are you thinking about wife?” his voice rumbled against her._

_She twisted her head and smiled up at Fitz. “Well husband,” she stretched and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “I was just thinking about how lucky we are, to be married on such a beautiful day.”_

_“You always would have made it a beautiful day,” Fitz mused and tucked his chin into her shoulder. “The weather cooperating is just a nice coincidence.”_

_“That rather romantic of you to say husband,” she giggled, she loved the way that word felt on her tongue. He was her husband; they were married, could life get any better?_

_“Well we both know that I’m the romantic one.”_

_Jemma shifted to properly face him. “You think I’m not romantic?”_

_He simply smirked and gave a little half shrug in response; Jemma pulled him in close and let her lips dance across his. She would show him just how romantic she could be. Just as she let her tongue peek out and smooth across his lower lip, Fitz let out a pained groan and stiffened in her hold._

_“What’s wrong?” she pulled back._

_“Jemma…” she looked down; blood was blooming at the centre of his chest, and he collapsed sideways to the ground._

_“Fitz!” she leaned over him, frantically trying to stop the bleeding, but nothing was working. She couldn’t see or feel a wound, but still he kept bleeding. “No, no, no, no, no. Please, stay with me Fitz,” she begged. “Stay with me.”_

_But he said nothing, he just kept looking up at her, his eyes growing dimmer and dimmer until there was no light left behind them._

_“NO!” Jemma cried, as she threw herself over his fallen body. This couldn’t be happening, not now._

_A laughed echoed out of the trees, dark and sinister. She looked up trying to figure out where it was coming from, but it boomed out from all around. But no there, a figure in the trees to the left, she squinted, who was that, what was it?_

_Ward stepped out into the clearing, the laughter still falling from his lips._

_“No,” she scrambled away, but he just continued forward._

_She sprang to her feet and fled into the forest, she could hear him hot on her heels. She chanced a look behind her, and fell to the ground, tripping over a tree root. She tried to crawl away, but then a hand grabbed around her ankle. Jemma kicked out trying escape, but Ward’s grip only tighten as he pulled her closer. She fought as hard as she could, she could feel his fingers as they closed over her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until…_

Jemma sat bolt up with a strangled cry. The door burst open and Jemma jumped at the noise, as Fitz rushed into the room, his bow at the ready. Jemma couldn’t help but sigh in relief, he was okay, he was still here.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he scanned the room. “Jemma are you alright?” 

She struggled to gain control of her breath, and shook her head. She wasn’t alright, there was no point in lying about it.

Fitz dropped his bow and rushed to the bed. He pulled her tight in his arms and rocked her gently as she clung to him, tears still streaming down her face.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, his hands running gently through her hair. “You’re alright now, it was just a dream.”

Jemma had no idea how long they stayed like that; his soft words and the steady thump of his pulse against her as she pressed into neck helping to calm her, until she finally was able to shake off the after images of her dream. “What are you doing here?” she croaked as she, reluctantly, lifted her head off his shoulder.

“I heard you screaming,” he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I thought maybe someone had gotten in.”

“Well,” she backed out of his hold and pulled her knees up to her chest, she didn’t deserve his comfort, no matter how much she wanted it. “I suppose there is something to be said about timing. Thank you, Fitz.”

She expected him to leave after that, to leave and forget this had happened and in the morning he would be back to avoiding her. But Fitz made no effort get up.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked and dropped his gaze to mattress, tracing a pattern on the sheets.

“Of course,” she longed for him to tell her anything, everything.

“It wasn't good timing,” he murmured, refusing to lift his head. “I was sitting outside your room, like I have been every night since you moved in here.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped, had he really? What did it mean? “Why didn’t you ever knock? Or just come in?”

“It’s wouldn't have been proper,” he picked at the comforter. “Especially now.”

“There’s plenty about us that isn’t proper Fitz,” she reached for his hand. “I didn’t care about being proper, I care about you.” He finally looked up at her; she could see him swallow hard. She knew he was hesitant to believe her, she understood and his gripped hand harder. She would do everything in her power to prove to him that she meant what she said, if he’d let her. “I know it’s a big ask,” she tugged at his hand. “But would you stay here tonight? I think, after that nightmare, I just…I need you close.”

Fitz bit his lip and Jemma knew he going to refuse. He stood up off the bed without a word and she dropped head. It was too much too soon, it had been a stupid thing to ask. She was shocked when bed dipped lower once more and looked up to see Fitz moving more fully onto the mattress; he had only stood to remove his boots.

“What was your nightmare about?” he asked as he settled back against the pillows.

Jemma blushed furiously. “It didn’t start out as a nightmare,” she confessed and rolled onto her stomach so could look at him.

“Oh?”

“We were in the forest, having a picnic,” she explained. “We were celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“Our wedding, we had been married that morning.” Fitz blinked owlishly, she continued before he could say anything. “Then things turned. you collapsed to the ground, you were bleeding, I couldn’t stop it,” her brow furrowed against the image. “You died.” Jemma took a deep breath and brought a hand up to his chest where she had seen blood first bloom. “Then there was this laughter, dark and twisted, and he, Ward, was there. He started chasing me, I tried to get away but he just kept coming, he caught me and then…then I woke up.”

Fitz reached up and trapped the hand she had been smoothing over his chest, stilling its movement but not letting it fall away. “Your father told me they called off the search, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“Do you really think he going to come back?” 

“I don’t know,” she shifted, lying down on her side facing him, her eyes growing tired. “But I can’t shake the feeling he might.”

Fitz nodded and reached over to her, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her over until she could settle against his chest. She went more than willingly. “It’s all going to be alright Jemma,” he soothed, his fingers tracing up and down her spine. “You’re going to be alright.”

But what about us? She wanted to ask, but couldn’t, she didn’t have the energy. The warmth of his body, the calming slide of his fingers and the gentle tattoo of his heart had caused her to drift into sleep before she could even realize that it was happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Here's another update! There is an M/E rated portion about ½ down, it is contained between two asterisks (*) so if you don't want to read you can fairly safely skip it.

Jemma’s eyes fluttered open to a knocking at her door. She was surprised, each morning since she had arrived at the castle she woke up with a lingering grogginess, but not that morning. She felt rested and refreshed, it had been the best sleep she’d had in a while, since her nights in the forest at least. She rolled over to reach for Fitz but he wasn’t there. The sheets were cool to the touch, a sign he’d been gone for a while, but they were rumpled and the smell of pine lingered on them the same way it always seemed to linger on his skin. It hadn’t been a dream; the feeling of being safe and warm in his arms that much was good at least, but it didn’t help the nugget of disappointment that rested in her chest knowing he wasn’t there when she woke up. The knocking persisted and Jemma rose from the bed, she was already late, it was time to get the day started.

She had met with Mrs Weaver, approving the menus and signing off on the orders. The woman was still furious over the short notice of their expected visitors, but she had the situation well at hand. She’d taken all the information to her father and he’d been happy with the progress. After that the day was hers, so she went down to the smithy in hopes of catching Fitz, but only Mack was working the forge when she arrived. She stole away her disappointment and greeted the man with a smile.

“How are you Mack?” she asked and took a seat at the table Mack had put in the forge after she and Elena started visiting. “No Fitz helping you today?”

“He’s off picking up a supply of iron ore; we’re running low and I want to get these suits of armour done sooner rather than later.” Mack wiped his hands on his apron and joined her at the table. 

“My father is more than impressed with your progress,” Jemma smiled. “He can’t believe how quickly you’ve been able to get things done, and how well. Some of the guards were sceptical with how light the armour is but they can’t find a single fault with its strength.”

Mack grinned. “It’s all in how you heat the metal. Fitz and I have found a new process over the years, it makes the end product lighter, but stronger.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“So I take it the preparations for this delegation Prince John is sending have been keeping you all busy,” he mused. “I haven’t seen Elena down here in days.”

Jemma smiled, it seemed though she wasn’t the only using their visit for ulterior motives. “It has,” she nodded. “But Elena’s been training with Bobbi and May. She’s really taken a liking to it. Bobbi put forward a plan about a guard made up with exclusively women, Elena’s thinking of joining.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” 

Jemma furrowed her brow. She knew Mack didn’t have issue with women fighting, at least none that she’d ever heard him voice. And he treated Bobbi and Daisy with a respect bordering on reverence; she had no ideas why he seemed so against the idea just because it was Elena. “Well it’s her decision, she’s a free woman. I think it’s good for her be honest. She’s always been so always full of energy, quick anger, I think this helping her channel that something positive.”

“I guess,” he agreed. “So who all is coming to this gathering that has all the scullery maids up in arms?”

“A few Earls and their families,” Jemma shrugged. “All friends of Prince John. It’s nothing but pomp and circumstance really, a way for the Prince to say he cares about the shire without having to do anything. But it is going to make things crowded.”

“And when can we be expecting the blessed few that the Prince bestowed this honour on?” Mack snarked.

“Monday,” she laughed. “Tuesday at the latest if the roads are bad or a horse throws a shoe. Well, I don’t want to keep you from your work Mack, thank you for the conversation.”

“You should come by later, Fitz should be back before supper.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m always happy to see you Jemma, but I know you don’t come here just for me,” he grinned. “How are things going between the two of you?”

“I’m not sure,” she smiled. “But I’m working on it.” 

“Good,” he placed a hand on her back as they walked to the entrance. “That’s real good.”

*

That night, Jemma didn’t fall asleep right away, instead she forced herself to stay awake and listen for any sign of Fitz. For what felt like hours there was nothing and she felt her eyes grow heavier and heavier. But then she heard it, gentle footfalls that stopped right outside her door and all at once she was wide awake again. She rose from the bed and crept to the door as silently as she could and opened it, stifling her laugh as Fitz all but fell through.

“Jemma, what are you doing?” he stammered as he tried to right himself.

“I told you, you don't need to wait out there,” Jemma grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the bed where she sat. “You don’t have to knock, or wait for me to open the door to you, you can just come in, alright? I said last night and I’ll say it again; I care about you, not what’s proper.”

Fitz sat down next to her. “I know what you said, but –”

“No buts,” she cut him off. “I know you don’t trust me and I don’t blame you. I know I hurt you and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologize enough. I thought that I had no choice but that no excuse; I should have been smarter, fought harder to figure out a different plan. Especially when I realized by feeling for you. But Fitz, I’m willing to do anything, everything to show that what I feel for you is real.”

“Are you insane?” He gapped. “Jemma you were in an impossible situation; your father, your people, they were all at risk. I forgive, if that’s what you need to hear, but I don’t blame you. I probably would have done the same thing in those circumstances; one life, my life, isn’t worth the lives of that many.”

“You risked your life, and the gang’s lives to save me from the noose,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t that disprove your point? Especially considering all the lives you help save everyday?”

“Yeah,” Fitz shrugged. “Well, I’m a love struck idiot.”

“So am I,” Jemma chuckled as a grin spread over Fitz face. “If you’ve already forgiven me then why have you been avoiding me?”

“We’ve been busy,” he shrugged. “We both have new responsibilities now, I mean your learning how to run the castle, your new duties with Lincoln, I can’t even imagine how you manage to do it all. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

“I didn’t want to crowd you,” he confessed. “Not if you weren’t sure. I didn't think I could have taken that.”

“Well I am sure,” she insisted and reached up to cup his face, her fingers smoothing through the stubble on his jaw. “You can crowd me all you want.”

“You may want to be careful what you wish for,” he smirked, his eyes shining bright with mischief.

Jemma bit her lip, trying not to squirm under his gaze. She smoothed her hand down to his chest, and pushed him back onto the bed. Fitz let out a surprised huff as he flopped back and Jemma didn’t even try to supress her grin, he wasn’t the only who could be mischievous. She straddled his hips and bent over him, her hair falling in a curtain around them, closing them off to the outside world. “Believe me,” she leaned in close, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “This isn’t even a dent in the things I’ve wished for.”

She felt Fitz groan under her as her lips danced across his jaw in gentle little pecks and trailed them down, keeping her kisses light and teasing until she reached his lips. Pulling back slightly Jemma looked down at him and licked her lip, his eyes tracked the movement, and that was all she needed as she surged forward. She kissed him with an urgency she couldn’t describe as his lips chased after hers. She smoothed her tongue against his lower lip; he opened to her at once and she moaned as their kiss intensified. Fitz sat up, holding tight to her waist as their tongues danced together, their hands roaming unable to get enough. Eventually, when the need for air became to great, Jemma reluctantly broke the kiss. She didn’t stray far however, just rested her forehead against his, her fingers stroking absently through the curls at the base of his neck as they tried to gain control over their breathing. 

“It’s late,” Fitz groaned and flopped back on bed. “We should try and get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jemma agreed. “You’ll stay though?”

Fitz smiled and nodded. Jemma slipped off his hips and crawled up beside him. She settled herself on her side, facing away from him, but reached behind her grasping his arm and tugging it over her waist. He was solid and warm against her back. “Is this okay?” she asked as she relaxed into him.

“Perfect,” he placed a gentle kiss where her neck met her shoulder. 

Jemma smiled and tugged the sheet up over them. For the first time in a long while she was going to bed feeling safe, and warm, and content with her life. But there was only one problem; she was no longer tired. She wriggled around, trying to find a place she could be at rest but was unable to make her body settle. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep,” she groaned. “I’m feeling…restless.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked shifting away.

“No!” Jemma caught his arm before he could pull it away and snugged it back around her. “Energized may be the better word; I can’t seem to settle down.”

“What do you usually do when you can’t sleep?”

“Read,” she answered. “Or pace around the room.”

“Do you want to get out of bed? I can fetch you a book.”

“No,” she protested. “I just need to get out of my head a little bit, but I don’t want to move, I’m too comfortable.” She felt Fitz smile against her neck, and squeezed his hand.

“Do you trust me?” he asked and removed his hand gently from her hold.

“Of course,” Jemma nodded and swallowed hard. Waiting in anticipation for what he would do.

Fitz traced his hand down her side slowly; she could feel the warmth of it through the silk of her nightgown. She arched back against him as his lips danced across her shoulder and bit her lips as his fingers skimmed down to the hem of her dress. “You can tell me to stop at any time,” he assured as his fingers track up, under her gown and between her legs. She spread her legs wide, opening her self up more to him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his breath hot against her ear.

Jemma nodded, and sighed as his fingers slipped through the course hair at the apex of her thighs, inching slowly closer to where she wanted him. She tilted her hips and hooked one of her legs over his, giving him more space to work. “Please,” she whispered.

Fitz traced his two middle fingers around her clit, finally making the contact she craved. He pinched it lightly and Jemma couldn’t hold back her groan as her eyes slammed shut against the sudden star burst. Fitz trailed his fingers back further and sunk into her heat, pumping slowly in and out a few times, soaking them in the wetness that had gathered there. He trailed back up slicking over her nub again and creating a delicious friction as she rocked against his hand. She squirmed against him, between his solid form at her back, his breath panting out in warm puffs at her neck and his hand between her legs, it was hard to stay still. It was too much but at the same time, it wasn’t enough, she needed more.

Fitz pinched her clit again as he slicked back down between her folds and dipped two fingers deep within her, rubbing in short, fast strokes against her walls. Jemma grabbed her pillow and bit down, silencing the scream of pleasure he ripped from her. He had set an agonizing pace, his fingers pressing down hard as they slid in deep and spread apart as he drew out, stretching her. She could feel him as he rocked against her, his hardened cock pressing against her backside as his teeth skimmed against her throat. She reached back, groping at his trousers until somehow, through her haze of pleasure, she managed to tug his laces loose and slip her hand down into the fabric until she could palm his length. Fitz groaned deep in his chest, and tugged her closer, the pace of his fingers increasing. 

Jemma managed tug him free from his trousers as she stroked over his cock. She alternated what she did the best she could, her pace, the pressure of her grip, as she tried to find what he liked best. She twisted her wrist on an up stroke and Fitz thrust up into her hand with a muffled moan. It was difficult, her mind was foggy, dripping the pleasure he was giving her, but she managed to keep up her steady pace, stroking, squeezing and twisting as his own fingers sent pleasure coursing through her body. Suddenly Fitz sunk his teeth into her shoulder with a muffled shout, and she knew he was as near as she was.

He added a third finger into her and his thumb came up to stroke against her clit. Jemma felt her body begin to tremble as she rode his hand, the callused tips of his fingers dragging against something wonderful inside her, sending sparks shooting up behind her eyes. He hooked his fingers within her, targeting that wonderful spot, rubbing faster and faster until she spasmed against him with a loud cry. So deep in her own pleasure she barely felt it as he twitched in her hand, his release pulsing out as it splashed against her thigh. Jemma sunk back against him feeling completely boneless as he used the bottom of the sheet to tidy them up. He then curled around her equally as spent, until eventually they both drifted off to sleep. 

* 

Fitz wasn’t there when she woke up the next morning. It was only the second time it had happened and she was already tired of it, especially after what they did the night before. She rose out of bed, dressed quickly and started her search for him; he wasn’t getting away so easily this time. He wasn’t with her father or in the library. He hadn’t been to the kitchens nor was he in the smithy according to Hunter and Mack. Finally she went to the training grounds hoping to find him on the range, but it was empty. Frustrated she grabbed up staff and struck the nearest training dummy with all her might. It felt good. She hit it again, and again, and again, taking out all her frustrations of Fitz on the dummy.

“Keep your head up,” his voice came from behind her, she stiffened at the sound. “You want to keep your eyes on your opponent, always. Your body will go on instinct but that only works if you aren’t looking at your feet.”

Jemma turned hurled staff at him like a spear, but he ducked out of way just in time.

“What the hell, Jemma?” He righted himself and looked at her aghast.

“So what was last night?” she stormed over to the gate. “Some kind of payback?”

“Jemma…” he sighed.

“Just tell me Fitz,” she demanded. “I know I hurt you, and I am deeply sorry, but stringing me along? Telling me you forgive me, letting us get close like that? Was it all just some kind of revenge?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then why did you leave? Why did I wake up alone?” she continued. “Why, after last night am I having to chase you down? Why are you running away?”

“We don’t work,” he confessed. “Us together, no one wants to see it, they’d hate us for it.”

“What are you talking about? Who would hate us?”

“I’m an outlaw, Jemma. You’re a noble,” Fitz shook his head. “Do you really think the lords are going to be thrilled by the idea of us in a relationship?”

“You’ve been pardoned,” she argued. “You’ve been set up with a position in the castle, and when the King returns –”

“It won’t erase anything,” he cut her off. “What your father’s done, what ever the King may or may not do upon his return, it doesn't change the things I’ve done. I stole from those nobles, I humiliated them, and they hate me for it. Your father only just quells their anger because they’re still trying to see where they fit in the new status quo. But if we were together there would be outrage, open rebellion, and all the good that’s happened would come undone.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Jemma grabbed his hand. “There is no nobility without the villages, and there are no villages without villagers. Look at the Gisborne’s, their village was decimated, their villagers died or left for greener pastures and eventually their titles were stripped away and no one alive today has any idea what happened to them. You may have embarrassed these noble, but better embarrassed with a title and their villagers, that you helped protect, then to fade into obscurity. Why do think they stood by as you hurled accusations at Malick? Because he threated their very existence, you threatened their pride; dangerous to do to some yes, but forgivable by most with time.”

“Jemma –”

“Besides,” Jemma covered his mouth. “I don’t care about any of that, I don’t care what they think. Maybe they won’t accept us and we’ll be thing they look down their noses at. The outlaw and the Lady; honestly we’d be giving them exactly what they want, something to gossip over. And let them do it; as long as I have you, I don’t care.”

“You should care,” he argued. “What can I offer you? Everything I have now is only because your father is being more than generous.”

“I don’t know Fitz, love and happiness?” She shook he head at his stubbornness. “I don’t love you because of fancy things you could buy me. I love you because of the way you make me feel, and the way I hope I make you feel. Like I can walk on water, or cut down a mountain, like I can do anything and everything I set my mind to. I love the way you challenge me like no one ever has; to do and to achieve things I never dared dream. I love the way you support and encourage me in those things I want to do. I love that we can argue and bicker but hold no ill will, I love that we see things differently because challenges us to see the world differently. I love that we can sit in silence and just be. I love that we can laugh together, and learn together, and grow together. Those are the things you offer me, things that no else ever has, that no one else ever can.”

“Jemma, I have no position.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted. “Do I have to brand that into my forehead?”

“No.” 

“I don’t care about money, or position, or power,” she lifted her hand to his neck and threaded her fingers through the curls there. “I would renounce everything I have for you; my title, my lands, everything, because I don’t care about them. I care about you. I care about us. The only thing that matters is that I love you, do you love me?”

“Yes,” he tilted his head down and rested his forehead to hers.

“Good,” she closed her eyes, relishing in the delight. “Then I think there’s only one thing to do.”

“And what’s that?” he grinned.

“Marry me, Fitz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Historical Note: So unlike now, the nobles and villagers used to have a very symbiotic relationship, and even that's not completely true. Nobles were only of value to the crown if they could pay taxes on their lands, and they could only do that if they had villagers; so no villagers, no money for taxes, no more title. Guy of Gisborne, like the Gisborne’s mentioned in the story, is one of the villains from the Robin Hood fables. One of the many back-stories for him, is exactly like stated above; his village was destroyed, the noble family did nothing or could do nothing to aid, so the people left, and the family was stripped of their power because they couldn’t pay their taxes. The lands were taken over by neighbouring nobles and the Gisbornes kind of just faded away. Guy of Gisborne in the stories was usually only referred to as such because he was afforded positions by the Sheriff of Nottingham, but was usually scoffed at because Gisborne no longer existed.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys! Sorry for the delay in posting, IRL has just kept coming the last month or so. I've been slammed at my second job (I coach) as we're in the height of our competition season, so there has been a lot of practices and conditioning, plus my own schedule as a competing athlete as well. I've also bought a house! So moving has been fun...oh wait no it hasn't, God I have a lot of crap! At least the house is nice and I have a big backyard(yay!). With all that every time I sat down to write and/or edit, my brain kind of just ground to a halt. But it finally decided to cooperate so without further ado here's the chapter! Enjoy.

Jemma smoothed down the front of her dress again as she waited on the steps of the castle. The delegates were set to arrive any moment and she needed to look her best, they all did; nearly the entire castle was out in their finests to greet the visiting nobles. She chanced a glance over her shoulder over to where Fitz stood a few rows back with the rest of the gang. She took in his new clothes, the deep green shirt, the dark brown leather waistcoat over top, his deerskin trousers, he looked very handsome. Her gaze lingered on him as he fidgeted with the hood of his waistcoat, betraying his own nerves. He turned his head in her direction like he knew she was watching him and grinned at her, squaring his shoulders and dropping his hands to his side once again. She wished she was up there with him or that he was down by her side, it would make everything so much easier, but she knew they had to be cautious in showing the delegation just how close they had become. 

A fascination and tentative friendship with Fitz would be tolerated to be sure. They were all fascinated with him after all, he was the stuff of legend. A man and his merry band that robbed from the rich and escaped without a trace only to turn around give their gains to the poor, it was thrilling to think about. But it was also something many nobles still feared. Would he turn against them? Return to his outlaw ways and steal everything from them once more? Would he use his infamy and new position to help the lower classes to overthrow them? Especially with the rumours that King Richard was seeking to give him an earldom of his own, officially inducting him into their ranks. No, it was far safer to keep their relationship a secret, at least for now.

It was a shame though, this meeting was supposed to be a celebration, and they had much to celebrate after all…

_“Marry me, Fitz.”_

_Fitz pulled away in shock. “Are you serious?”_

_“Yes,” Jemma answered without hesitation._

_“You would marry so far beneath you?”_

_“Of course,” she assured taking a step closer to him. “What exactly do you think loving you means?”_

_Fitz sat on the ground, heavily. “It’s just…I mean, I know that you love me. I know you do. But that love isn't without risk, and you have so much more at stake than I do. Do you really think I'm worth it?”_

_“What is it exactly,” Jemma kneeled in front of him. “You think I’m risking?”_

_"Only everything," he shook his head. “Your father could disown you.”_

_“Do you really think my father would do that?” she dismissed. “I swear he loves you more than I do.”_

_Fitz smiled despite himself, but he still hesitated. “I asked Ophelia to marry me once.”_

_Jemma swallowed hard, she hadn’t known that. “And?”_

_“She said no, obviously,” he looked down at his hands. “She said that I was just an apprentice. That even though she loved me, she needed to marry better than what she was. She wanted a better life than the one she had, and I couldn’t offer her that. That the most I could ever rise to be was like her father, and even that was a long ways off. Love wasn't enough for her.”_

_Jemma fumed. “Mack told me that her father’s business only started gaining notoriety after you came to work for him. It was your ideas and your designs, that made him a popular choice throughout the shire. I’d be willing to wager that the only reason she was chosen as the wife for the Lord of Loxley’s son was because of the recognition that you gave her father.”_

_“You make a point, but so did she,” Fitz gave her a self-deprecating grin that she immediately hated._

_“What point did she make other than to show her own selfishness and ignorance?”_

_“That class differences, even minor ones, can be hard to overcome. I don’t know my graces. I think the pomp and circumstance that nobles go to is stupid and..." he fought to find the right word. "Frivolous; and the idea at being at a feast dedicated to nothing but that frivolity for hours on end makes my skin crawl. I don’t know how to keep hold of my tongue, especially when people are just so very, very wrong. Chances are high that I’d do something, say the wrong thing to the wrong person, or insult some crusty old lord by calling him by the wrong title and embarrass you and your father. It could ruin his chances at being reappointed as Sheriff in the future.”_

_Jemma took his hand in her and squeezed tightly. “You’re right, there are things you don’t know. But that doesn't mean you can’t learn. No one is born knowing their social graces, it’s something that’s taught. And while I have have no doubt you are a quick learner who would be find on his own, don't forget that I'll be at your side the whole time to help you though it. Then, after making the rounds and showing our faces, we can make our excuses to escape; honestly once the wine starts flowing most people don’t pay any mind to anything other than making sure their goblets remain full. And as to minding what you say, polite disagreements of opinion are fine and I trust you can hold back the worst of your tongue. If there’s anyone who is going to cause a scene by shouting some poor old lords head off it's Hunter.”_

_She smiled as he barked out his laughter and pulled his hand to her chest. “I’m willing to take the risk, Fitz. Are you?”_

_He looked at her, his blue eyes wide. “Absolutely.”_

_“Good,” she leaned in and smiled as he met her half way._

A trumpet blast pulled her out of her thoughts turning her attention back to the matter at hand, the delegation had arrived. She watched as the carriages entered the courtyard, it was almost like watching a dance as they pulled around and stopped in a line; as the coachmen bustled about after that, guiding the noble families out of the carriages and onto the cobbled ground.

“Welcome to Nottingham,” Phil stepped off the steps, his arms spread wide in greeting. “It’s our pleasure to be your hosts during your visit to the North. We are honoured that Prince John saw fit to send you all to aid in our efforts of re-stabilizing the Shire. We look forward to your input as we devise a plan to prevent what happened in Nottingham from happening elsewhere in England.” The men all chorused in kind and with the pleasantries out of the way her father ushered them up the steps and into the castle to get settled before the welcoming feast that night. 

*

Despite their separation at the welcoming Jemma was seated next to Fitz at the feast, it was both a blessing and a curse. She was happy to be near him and to be in a setting where she was allowed to laugh with him, talk with him and be close with him without any raised eyebrows, but he wouldn’t stop bouncing his leg under the table and it was driving her mad. She placed her hand on his knee stopping his fidgeting, so he drummed his fingers on the table instead. “What has got you so restless?”

“I told you, I hate this kind of thing,” he hissed. 

“I know,” she soothed, rubbing her thumb back and forth across his kneecap. “I’m not fond of them either, but I'm not shaking the entire table.”

“Yeah, but you belong here.”

“And you belong with me,” she smiled at him. “So I guess that means you do to.” 

“How long until we can sneak away?” he asked dipping his head as close as he dared. “We do have lots to celebrate after all.”

“Soon,” she assured, squeezing his leg. She wished she could kiss him, or scratch her fingers through the scruff on his cheek, but she knew they had to be cautious. “We could take your mind off of it,” she offered with a wicked grin.

“How?” Fitz raised eyebrow.

Jemma stood up and held out a hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Fitz hesitated but took hold of her offered palm and allowed Jemma to haul him to his feet. They had just barely stepped onto the floor when they were stopped by her father. 

“This my daughter, Jemma,” Phil gestured to the pair beside him as Jemma let Fitz's hand fall from hers. “Jemma, this is Lord Milton Webley-Prowse, Earl of Oxford, and his wife. And this, of course, is – ”

“Leopold Fitz,” The Countess of Oxford cut in.

Jemma felt Fitz stiffen beside her as he looked at the woman. “Ophelia,” he said through gritted teeth.

Jemma was stunned as her eyes darted back and forth between two. The Countess of Oxford was a tall, thin, beautiful woman, with flowing dark hair, piercing eyes and a serious look about her. She looked every bit a Countess. This was Ophelia, the Ophelia? 

“It’s wonderful see you again,” she smiled wide, a gleam in her eyes that turned Jemma’s blood to ice.

“How do you know him my dear?” her husband asked, amusement in his voice. 

“You know I’m from Nottinghamshire, darling,” Ophelia simpered. “Leopold and I are old friends.”

“Friends with an outlaw,” Milton shook his head. “Who would have thought?”

“Former outlaw,” a voice behind them broke in. It was Daisy, her eyes cold as she stared hard at Ophelia.

Jemma looked to where the gang had gathered at the back of the ballroom. Mack and Hunter were struggling to keep hold of Bobbi, who was hissing curses as she attempted to claw her way past them.

“Well, he wasn’t always one either, he was just my father’s apprentice once upon a time,” Ophelia respond, with equally cold eyes. “I must say, Daisy, I am surprised to see that you’re still around. Gang’s all here I take it; how is darling Barbara doing?”

“She’s fine,” Fitz said crisply, drawing attention back to him. “If you’ll excuse us Milords, I promised Lady Jemma a dance.” Without another word he grabbed her hand and led her to join the circle.

They got out of carole of dancers as soon as they reached the edge of the ballroom, where the gang stood waiting. 

“What is that raving bitch doing here?” Hunter snarled loudly as they approached. 

“Keep your voice down,” Mack urged. “She’s got hearing like a bat that one.”

“We knew Malick promised her a marriage to some southern Lord,” Fitz answered. “We just assumed that meant she’d never step foot in Nottingham again.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” Daisy piped up.

“I say we put an arrow through her knee,” Bobbi growled. “See how ‘darling’ she feels after that.”

“We leave her be,” Fitz seethed, tension radiating off him. “Give her wide birth, go about your duties as usual and you’ll not see her after tonight.”

“Remember they’ll all be out of here soon enough,” Jemma assured, bringing her hand up to rub Fitz’s shoulder. “Just keep your wits about you and don't do anything rash until they’ve gone.”

“Easier said than done,” Hunter muttered.

“Then it’s a good thing you all like challenges,” Jemma turned to face Fitz. “Come on, let’s go for a walk, cool off.”

*

She crept silently along the hall of the east wing, trying hard to stay out of the light cast by the braziers. She’d paid a maid to tell her where she’d find him and it was much to her surprise that his room was in such a well-appointed area, he really must have made an impression on the new Sheriff. Checking the directions again, she stood in front of his room, a heavy oak door was the only thing that separated him from her now, and she prayed it stayed silent on its hinges as she pushed it open. She wanted to surprise him after all. She smiled as it let out not even the faintest of creeks and stepped into the room. But the sight that greeted here was not at all what she had expected to find.

Leopold was here all right, as promised, but he was not alone. Ophelia felt her arms tingle with anger as she took in the scene in front of her; her Leopold and the Sheriff’s daughter, Jennifer, Emma, whatever her name was, in the throws of passion. She was astride him, her head thrown back, her brown waves cascading down her back as she braced herself against his chest and knee. “NO!” the shrill cry was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The pair sprang apart as Ophelia stepped fully into the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” He barked, and pulled the sheet up over his harlot, protecting in vain what was left of her dignity.

Rage flowed through Ophelia as she glowered at the pair. This was not how this was supposed to go at all. He was supposed to fall at her feet, beg her to come back to him. He was supposed to be sick over her absence, rudderless without her guidance, and grateful when she took him back to her bed as her paramour. He was not supposed to be getting uppity by humping some second tier noble tart. She would make sure he’d suffer for his brazen behaviour. “Guards!” She screamed loud as she could. “Guards quick! An attack!”

Two of them raced into room and Ophelia pointed at the pair still in bed. “He’s attacked her, the Outlaw has raped the Sheriff’s daughter.”

Jemma squawked in protest as the guards rushed the bed, yanking Fitz off the mattress and grappling him to the ground. “Stop,” she shouted as they wrestled him to feet, his arms forced tight behind his back. “Stop this at once, let him go, he’s done nothing!”

“What is going on in here?” Ophelia smirked as the Sheriff walked into the room.

“This fiend,” she spat at Leopold. “Broke in here and forced himself on your daughter.”

“That is not true,” he argued.

“Father, please,” Jemma implored. “She’s lying, Fitz has done nothing wrong.”

“I saw it myself, My Lord Sheriff.” 

“What are you even doing here?” Leopold growled at her and thrashed against guards’ hold.

The Sheriff raised hand for quiet. “Jemma,” he addressed his daughter. “Explain.”

“Fitz and I were…well we were,” she flushed scarlet.

“He stripped her of her virtue,” Ophelia couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. “He’s tainted her.”

“No,” Jemma protested.

“So you admit to being a wanton whore then?” Ophelia arched an eyebrow. “It’s hard believe you’d shame yourself and family by committing such a crime, all satisfy an itch with an outlaw.”

Jemma glared. “It would be a sin not a crime.”

“That’s of little consequence,” Ophelia scoffed. “They two are one and the same in the eyes of those who matter.”

“Besides,” the younger woman continued, her eyes not leaving Ophelia’s. “It’s not either to have relations with one's husband.”

“One's what?” Ophelia shouted.

“Did you say husband?” Sheriff asked, agape. “I thought you were merely engaged.”

“What?” He knew of their relationship, he approved of it? That wasn’t possible.

“We were,” Jemma sat up straighter. “But tonight after the feast, we took a walk in the gardens and decided we didn’t want to wait. We exchanged vows under the stars.”

“Fitz,” Phil continued calmly. “Is this what happened?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’m sorry Milord. We had no intention of it getting out this way, we meant no offense, or embarrassment.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Phil nodded to guards. “Release him.”

“My Lord,” Ophelia gasped as they let goof his arms and Fitz scrambled for his trousers. “You don’t really believe this nonsense do you?”

“What reasons have they to lie?”

“Well, they've been caught having pre-marital relations. The punishment for that is severe.”

“But they both claim to be married, and we have no-one here to say otherwise,” he stated simply. “And the marriage has clearly been consummated, you’re a witness to that yourself, My Lady. Given the evidence and their own testimony, in the eyes of the law they are husband and wife. But it does bring us to another matter; what are you doing here Lady Ophelia?”

“I beg your pardon?” She felt an unwelcome tension creep up her neck.

“What,” Phil repeated slowly. “Has caused you to stray so far from your quarters on this night, My Lady?”

“Well I heard a commotion,” she stammered. “I thought someone was in trouble, and came to investigate. To see if I could help.”

“It is incredible,” Jemma stated dryly. “That you were you able hear a commotion in here, from your rooms two floors down and a wing over.”

“I didn’t hear it from there,” Ophelia sneered. “I found myself unable to sleep, and decided to go out for an evening stroll.”

“Without your husband or even a lady’s maid to escort you?” Fitz crossed his arms over his chest. 

Ophelia glared at him, he’d grown bolder in her absence, she not like it, her Leopold would never dared question her like this.

“I’m waiting, Lady Ophelia,” the Sheriff raised an eyebrow.

“I have done nothing wrong,” she stated and lifted her chin, refusing to meet his eye.

“Actually, Lady Ophelia you have,” the older man intoned. “These are private quarters, off limits to guests, even ones such as yourself, as was explained when you were settling in. We have take security in this wing of the castle seriously, you understand. The plans for the shire’s recovery are housed here, not to mention the relief money. But there is also the ordinates from Prince John about what we’re to do if our efforts to locate Grant Ward should prove successful, as well as the plans weed out further plots against crown. All here in this wing, and under the highest orders of protection from the Prince himself.”

Ophelia felt her stomach drop and tried shove down her nerves. “Your point, Sheriff?”

“Well given your presence here, with no acceptable reason presented, I must believe you are spy, either on behalf Grant Ward or others who wish overthrow our King.”

“Ridiculous,” she dismissed.

“Perhaps,” he agreed solemnly. “But until such time as you offer a reasonable excuse or we have found evidence to the contrary I’m afraid I am duty bound to hold on suspicion of conspiracy against the crown,” he gestured to the guards. “Take the Countess of Oxford to the dungeons.”

“What?” she cried as the men seized her arms. “Unhand me, let me go this instant you unwashed ogres.”

“I assure you My Lady, you will be treated with respect, we only mean to confine you away, while this sorted,” Phil called as she hurled more insults at the guards. “You husband will be informed of the situation, we’ll make sure he is present you interrogation in the morning.”

“Accusing her of espionage?” Jemma raised eyebrow as Ophelia’s cries faded away. “Do you really think anything will come of that?”

“Likely not,” her father shrugged. “But it’s not a lie, I have to treat any breach of the security in this wing seriously. I somehow doubt husband find her excuses anymore believable we do. We'll see which she’d rather do, face punishment for crimes against the crown and become the Prince's problem or come clean with her true reasons for being here.”

Fitz grimaced and looked at Jemma, he knew why she had come here. It seemed as though Jemma did as well.

“But onto other matters,” Phil pulled them out of their silent conversation. “Congratulations you two. It’s not what I would have preferred of course but, as you well know Jemma, your mother and I did the same, so I cannot find it in me argue too much.” 

Jemma looked down at the sheets and bit her lip to try and contain her smile. “I do however,” her father continued. “Expect a proper, albeit small, ceremony to take place in the near future, even if it is just to placate the desires of an old man who wishes to see his daughter wed.” 

“Of course Father,” Jemma nodded while Fitz let out a small squeak of ‘yes sir’ as Phil left the room. 

Fitz waited until well after the door closed behind Jemma’s father before he spoke again. “I can’t believe you made that up on the spot. Bobbi is convinced you’re a terrible liar.”

Jemma smirked and moved to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. “It’s not a lie exactly.”

“We aren’t married,” he pointed out as Jemma wrapped her hands around his waist and brought him between her legs.

“That easily remedied, we can take care of that right now,” she him down on top of her and rolled them over so she was looking down at him. She stroked a curl off of his forehead and looked into his deep blue eyes with an unabashed smile on her face. “Fitz, do you want to be married to me? Here, now and for the rest of our lives?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned and sat up and held Jemma securely in his lap. “Do you want to be married to me?” 

“Of course,” she threaded her hands into his hair. “There’s noting I want more. Do you swear it to God?”

“If He exists, yes. You?”

“Yeah,” she leaned down and kissed him gently.

“And just like that we’re married?” he raised his eyebrows disbelief when she pulled away.

“Just like that,” she confirmed.

“A little anti-climactic don't you think?”

“Well, husband,” she was unsure who grinned larger at the word. “There is one more thing we have to do, to make things completely official, and it should be far more exciting.”

“Oh? And what’s that wife?” Fitz brushed his nose against hers. “Dancing? Cake?”

“No you silly man,” she giggled as his scruff tickled the side of her neck as he placed kisses down it. “It’s something far more private,” she leaned back and pulled Fitz on top of her again to settle between her thighs. “And far more pleasurable.”

“I don't know,” he mused as he pushed himself over her. “Hunter does bake some really good cakes.”

Jemma surged up and nip his lower lip in chastisement. “Never mention Lance Hunter in this bed again.”

“Noted,” he leaned down to kiss her properly. “I love you Jemma. Thank you for marrying me.”

She carded her fingers through his hair and pulled his forehead down to hers. “I love you too. Thank you for saying yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes for a time marriage really was as easy as saying you wanted to be married and that was it. The church tried to control/regulate marriage as much as they could, but they really didn't at the time. It wasn't until the 13th century that marriage laws really started to come into play and it didn’t come into full force until the 18th century (and even then only in England). You didn’t need your family’s permission to marry, you didn’t need to get married in a church, you didn’t need a priest or even witnesses or anything like that. Both parties basically just needed to say that they wanted to be married right then and there, and they were. The difficulty was in proving that a marriage had indeed occurred (this is why witnesses were a good idea) and it wasn't two people doing what Fitzsimmons did, or a person (usually a man) getting "married" just to sleep with another person and they saying it didn't happen. However if both swore up and down they were married and it had been consummated, there was little anyone could do, or more to the fact would be willing to do owing to potential embarrassment, to prove otherwise.


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks the last chapter of this story. Thanks so much for reading!

Fitz paced the floor of his bedroom nervously, he really wasn’t sure about this. His head snapped up as the door creaked open, but when he saw Jemma slip in side he resumed his steps.

“You’re going to wear a path in the floor if you keep that up,” she mused as she sat on the edge of their bed.

“Do I have to do this?” he looked at her with the biggest, saddest eyes he could put on.

Jemma rolled her own, apparently they were having this conversation again. “Yes, you do.” She stood and halted his marching with a hand placed gently on his chest. “You have no method by which to refuse. You are being bestowed a great honour and you can take solace in the fact that King Richard is allowing my father do this as his proxy rather than having to go down to London and endure whatever pageantry Prince John could come up with.”

She felt a shiver run through him as he gave her tight smile. “You may make a point.”

“Of course I do,” she smoothed out his shirt. “You try not fall asleep while Bishop prattles on, you swear fealty to the King, you get a sword belt tied around your waist by my father then low and behold you’re an Earl.”

“You make it sound so simple,” he sat heavily on their bed.

“It is simple,” she sat beside him and wound her arms around bicep. “And then during the feast we can slip away, and I can have you all to myself.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows and in flash pulled her on top of him as leaned back the mattress. “And what exactly will you do with me when you have me, wife?”

She leaned down to kiss him, deeply, slowly. It had been over a year now since he was first able to call her wife, and what a year it had been. She pulled back from him as his fingers began to pull up her skirt inch by inch. “That’s all you get until tonight.”

She laughed as Fitz flopped back on the mattress again dramatically. “You’re an evil torturess, that’s what you are.”

Her retort was cut off by a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called and climbed off Fitz to sit beside him. Bobbi entered the room with a howling baby on her hip. 

Both sprang from the bed but Jemma was fastest as she plucked the tot from her friend’s arms and began to rock the infant gently, soothing the cries the best she could. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Bobbi explained. “We got dressed for the ceremony and…”she trailed off gesturing to the red faced babe. 

“Poor lamb,” Jemma dropped a kiss to her child’s bright curls. “You are your daddy’s son aren’t you? You don't care for all this pomp and finery either. No, you’d much rather be out running through the woods, and jumping in rivers wouldn’t you?”

“Smart boy,” Fitz ran a hand over his son’s hair and wiped away some tears.

“You are a clever boy, aren’t you Jamie?” she kissed his wet little cheek.

“Maybe we can bring him with us when we sneak away tonight?” Fitz suggested as he plucked Jamie out of Jemma’s arm and bounced him gently. “We could go to the river have our first family swim, that sounds perfect right about now no?”

“Absolutely not,” Bobbi glared at him. “Jamie is far too young for that, he could squirm right out of your arms and drown.”

“I’m not going let him drown,” Fitz defended. “Who says you get a say in this anyways?”

“I’m his godmother!”

“Yeah and so are Daisy and Elena, only they don't butt in nearly much you do.”

“I’m also his bodyguard, it’s my job to protect him, Leopold.”

“A job you take too seriously. He’s my son and he’s allowed to have fun with his mother and father from time to time, Barbara.”

“Okay,” Jemma intervened before things got really ugly, especially if they were already using first names. “A family swim is a wonderful idea Fitz, but Bobbi is half right, Jamie’s still a little to small for that, but it’s not because he’d wiggle away. The water’s too cold still, for us but especially Jamie, maybe in another few months when the water is warmer.”

“Thank you Jemma,” Bobbi all but stuck her tongue out at Fitz. “However if mum and dad are need some alone time, I’d be happy to keep Jamie with Hunter and me for the night.”

“What’s Hunter going to think about that offer?” Fitz asked knowing it would not be something the man would be happy about.

“If Hunter doesn't like it, he can sleep with the dogs,” Bobbi chimed as she pulled faces at the still fussing baby.

Ah, so it was one of those days between recently married pair, sometimes he still couldn’t believe they went through with it.

“We would appreciate that very much, thank you Bobbi,” Jemma agreed. “We’ll tell Nanny about the change. He’s been sleeping through the night for a while now but does occasionally wake up wanting to be fed.”

“Wow you mean we’re actually going to use the wet nurse we hired, she’s going to be in for quiet a shock.” Fitz mused from the mirror as he tried to get his curls under control; it was a losing battle.

Jemma ignored his comment and passing Jamie back to his godmother. She sat Fitz down on the bed and went over to the washbasin with a comb. He made a point; they were very involved parents, preferring to keep Jamie with them even when going about their various duties around the castle. Fitz had even made a wheeled cart and a padded back sac to carry him about in when on the range or going for a walk in the forest. The nurse had seldom been used but was kept on retainer for busy days like this. 

“I’ll see you down there,” Bobbi left with Jamie on her hip.

“Are you sure you’re ready be away from him all night?” Fitz asked as she attacked his hair with the wet comb.

“Yes, it’ll be good for all of us,” she glared at his uncooperative hair. “Beside, I told you I have plans for you tonight and I’d prefer Jamie not be here to interrupt.”

He sat up straighter. “And what um, what exactly would those plans be?”

“You've had a preview already haven’t you,” she put the comb down; his hair was as good as it was going to get. “If you can’t remember what comes next then it really has been _far_ too long.”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open. “Really? You’re sure? I was just teasing earlier.”

“Well, if you don’t want to,” her shoulders sank, she’d been afraid of this, maybe her body had been through too much, maybe he didn’t find her attractive anymore.

“No, no, no, no, no,” He protested quickly and wrapped his arms around waist pulling her onto his lap. “I want to, I definitely want to. But are you sure you’re ready? You were in so much pain after Jamie was born, and you've been so tired lately what with trying to keep the castle running smoothly and helping Lincoln try to treat the sleeping sickness that's swept through the villages. I just don’t want hurt you. And I don’t want you to push yourself for me, I can wait, for however long you want.”

“I’m sure,” she smiled and nosed at his scruffy cheek. “It's been nearly six months, I’m more than ready.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Is this thing over yet?”

“It hasn’t even started yet,” Jemma giggled as he flopped onto the bed once more. “Come on Fitzy,” she grabbed his hand and tugged as he groaned in protest. “Time to go be made the Earl of Huntingdon.”

“If I have to.”

"You do,” she smiled up at him as they walked out the door. “But we’ll get through it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a historical note: there is no way that Fitz would have been made the Earl of Huntingdon (though he could have been granted and Earldom either by King Richard or King William I (of Scotland)). This is for a few reasons. One this title was in use at the time the story takes place in the late 12th century. Two it was a royal title, held by Scottish monarchy. But it is the common title associated with Robin Hood, so there we go, yay for fiction.
> 
> This title and it's association with Robin Hood is one of the strikes against him being a real person, as the title didn't come back to English peerage until the early 14th century. It's likely that this association of the title is as a nod to David, of Scotland (a Scottish prince) who is seen as possible inspiration for the Robin Hood stories.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I may start posting little Robin Hood/Archery trivia in the notes on the next chapters if there's interest. Hit me up on Tumblr if you want, I'm Agent-Bash over there.


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